Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Cynic on facts and fads Message-ID: <9060017@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 1 Feb 90 04:27:56 GMT Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 52 The cynic again enters Callahans. His face looks very troubled. What's new? He crosses to his makeshift bulletin board, and posts the following note: Where will it end? It seems to have become a big fad lately to become environmentally conscious. Like many fads, I wonder how long it will last in the mind of society. But I also wonder how serious the problem really is. Some people lead you to beleive that human changes in the environment will lead to catastrophic change, while others assure us that it is not as bad as all that. I was reading a short article the other day where some guy claimed that most species of fresh water fish will become extinct in the next few decades. How can we do this if it is true? What are we to do? A species a day is made extinct in the Amazon by some estimates. Are these just claims inflated to serve the purposes of some power hungry environmental political droid? How am I to know? How can we destroy a world? The amazing complexity and beauty; are we eliminating it for the sake of T.V. dinners and hair dryers? I have wondered about this for awhile now. Just another thing to contribute to the madness. Gold and green. Rolling, fleet. Flying, calling. Passing on a million feet. Fins and skins. Stretch and roar. Flicker quickly. Drinking life a little more. Scavenge, ravage. Jump and hide. Screaming anguish. Burning bright. Alive inside. Holy hands. Grasp and strain. Tearing twisting. Bursting sinews. Open veins. Hands that slaughter. Hands that rend. Missing nothing Holy hands that bring the end. The Cynic says, "To hell with it. Just do it!" Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!psuvm!emd101 From: EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A song from the heart, er, liver Message-ID: <90034.222321EMD101@PSUVM.BITNET> Date: 4 Feb 90 03:23:21 GMT References: <9002032339.AA26553@ccb.ucsf.EDU> Organization: Penn State University Lines: 32 In article <9002032339.AA26553@ccb.ucsf.EDU>, robin@CCB.UCSF.EDU (Robin Colgrove) says: > >Thump, crash, jostle jostle, scrape, thwop! >An exceedingly bizarre-looking figure squeezes its way through the >door in a none-too-graceful fashion. The anatomically-minded among the >patrons recognize this as a person in a huge paper-mache costume constucted >to resemble an outsize human liver, complete with a well-postioned >green balloon for the gall bladder (non-bio types consult your local >encyclopedias for reference ;). Needless to say, this apparition is a bit >out of the ordinary even for Callahans and so a lull settles over the >communal chatter as the patrons await further edification as to the nature >of this refugee from 'The Far Side.' A mop head pokes up through the stop >and regulars recognize the goofy features of robin (calamity) colgrove >who has previously strewn destruction in his wake throughout callahanspace. > >To the tune of "Old Man River" sung as low as you can go...Ahem... > >Robin's usually pleasant baritone speaking voice suddenly transmorgrifies >into his thunderous singing basso, half bullfrog and half earthquake... > > > He don' pump plasma! > He don' pump Oh-two! > But all dem otha organs, he tells 'em where ta go to! > Cuz Ol' Man Liver, he keep dat bile juice flo-o-owin' strong! > You got gall, bud, but you're no Liverace. I suppose you're an organ donner? Well, liver'n let live, I always say. -Octave Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!bu-cs!mirror!necntc!ima!haddock!karl From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A Little Dream Message-ID: <15848@haddock.ima.isc.com> Date: 3 Feb 90 22:57:30 GMT References: <90031.214955EMD101@PSUVM.BITNET> Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Lines: 19 >>"Naturally the Team members are witty and fun to be around, and like to >>discuss physics in their spare time, and eat pizza and play Canasta. How >>about it? Would anyone like to be a part of a Virtual n-tet? We could hang >>out in Callahan's and talk about the music we would play if we were a >>Real n-tet. It's a great idea!" >[Various other people respond enthusiastically and start tuning up] Hey, I like it! Physics: of course--this *is* an sf arena (despite the large fantasy turnout in this particular manifestation), and it's hard to write good sf without taking physics into account. Pizza: always willing, as long as I have some input as to what ingredients get omitted. Canasta: it's been a few years, but I still keep a deck within reach, and I'm sure I still remember the rules. And the best part is that, being virtual, nobody has to know what a lousy musician I am! :-) --Karl Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!ash From: ash@pawl.rpi.edu (Arthur Hyun) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: a quiet melody Keywords: n-tet Message-ID: Date: 4 Feb 90 11:10:42 GMT Distribution: alt Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy NY Lines: 54 The usual activity surrounds the bar on this eve, but now with many excited conversations about the virtual n-tet. Many dreams are being born as well as many fears and insecurities. Instruments are being proudly displayed along with the talents of their owners, and stories of their use. Slowly, the bar quiets down as person by person catch hold of a quiet and subtle melody in the warm air of Callahan's. The piece lacks complexity and an occasional missed note betray the player's newness to his instrument. But for all of the lack of technical aptitude there is a certain intensity in it that catches one's attention and holds it. There is a sorrow and a dispair that is easily heard in the melody, carried in such a subtle way as to be deposited within your soul as you listen. The soft tune plays upon you, dredging up memories of lost love, of lost hope. It is, you relfect, a melody that carries the taste of hopes and dreams being torn assunder, being crushed beneath the bitter stones of fate. The sad song weighs heavily upon your shoulders, bringing tears to even the most avid haters of music. You can only but wonder what is felt within the one who plays it, as you are certain that his newness to the instrument prevent him from instilling within it every ounce of what he feels. Caught up in the melancholy spell of the music, you look for its origin, finding it sitting quietly in one of the many corners of the room. It is that tall, darkly clad man who spoke not so long ago. Looking towards him, you find the only break in his cloak of darkness are the bright tears in his eyes; the only fault in his cover of silence is the bittersweet song of loves lost. You see his barrier of sollitude broken only by the memories of a a time when he no need for such a barrier, standing with the hope that this barrier may one day be shed and left behind. His eyes are unfocused, and half closed, obliviously plaing his bamboo recorder; his shakuhatchi. The shakuhatchi shows signs of many such performances looking, battered and tired, carrying scars from the ocean's salt spray, of the rain, and of tears. Abruptly, he stops, first noticing the attention of the many people within the bar. He blinks fast and hard, regaining his composure, and quickly rebuilds his walls. His face flushes in response to the sudden attention, and he quickly puts away the instrument. Everything in his manner shows that he still considers himself an "outsider", and everything he now does acts to try to restore the harmony within the bar, that harmony that he feels has been disturbed by his performance. Before long, the bar returns to its usual level of activity, with the memory of that sadness conveyed by the shakuhatchi almost, but not quite forgotten. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dark and starless night, alone with Cold and Sorrow, waiting for the Sun. -- ----------------------+-----------------------+------------------------------- ash@pawl.rpi.edu | sammael@mts.rpi.edu | the.arthur@rpitsmts.BITNET ----------------------+-----------------------+------------------------------- Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Fragility, Beauty, Resignation Message-ID: <9060019@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 3 Feb 90 08:19:51 GMT References: <9001241640.AA06606@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 37 >"A rose," she said, "is a horrible thing to give me. Its colors are >too bright, too vibrant. They glow with an intensity and a brilliance >that will blind me. I can't bear to look on it." I like this. >Beauty can be too sharp and cutting sometimes, it seems. For some people. I am not sure this came across in my original post, but I kind of like the cut of this beauty. >Cynic, I agree that no philosophy can change how you feel about the >transience of the beauty of a rose. But for whatever it's worth, at >least you can see its beauty. Even if the beauty will not last forever. >Even if you hate it for being so temporary. At least you can identify >it as a source of beauty. Yes, and I do understand that there are many definitions of beauty. And I do allow for those that I do not understand. >I won't tell you that you should find comfort in this. Thanks. I am somewhat "beyond" comfort. I do not really need it any more. I am what I am and the world is what it is. Amen. >Just be aware that there are other ways of being. Ones where a stone >is far more beautiful than any rose because of the stone's very drabness. >Ones where it is more natural to appreciate the coolness of a stone rather >than the intensity of a flower. I am aware of these ways of looking at the world, but to me they seem a bit like trying to turn stones to flowers. Of course, I am being facetious. Please forgive me. Or don't. It really isn't important. ---------- Cynic Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: The door opens... Message-ID: <9060018@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 3 Feb 90 08:06:04 GMT References: <'X1J_=@rpi.edu> Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 118 >and change in bearing, almost as if he were trying to gain something, some >insight, from looking at each person, feeling each person's trouble, and >by taking and holding the burden resting on each person's soul for a while. >You notice, though, no attempt to let that burden drop again from his soul. Not everyone can carry the weight of the world.... "REM" > "I don't see things the same way, I suppose. I, at one point, tried to >hold on to beauty and love and such, but it is, of course, impossible. Those >memories are held limited by our existence's ephemeral nature. That which is >beautiful will, one day, fade, as will our memories of it, and as will we. Ah, yes, that is the rub and the very source of the pain that I described. >is not the rose, but rather, my experience of the rose. Part of that beauty >is the pain of no longer experiencing the rose, for what would its beauty mean >to me, if i never lost it? It would become dull, and boring, and its beauty >would lose all meaning to me... I am willing to grant the reasonable nature of this argument, but I still have problems with it. I think that a great variety of beauty would prevent boredom without the necessity of brevity, and the pain associated with that brevity. > "I do not know how someone who has made me so happy can cause me such pain >and torment, nor do I know how she, causing me such agony can also bring me >such happiness at a kind word, a touch, or even a passing glance. My first, >and only, true love will be married within the next two years, and it tears >my Heart everytime I think of it, knowing that she will never again feel that >love for me again. However, I love her, and nothing anyone says or does will >change that, her marriage notwithstanding. Because of that love, I will stand >aside and let her live her life the way she wishes; to be married to he who >is who she loves, and I wish her all the happiness he, and life, can bring her >despite that the one she loves is not me. I keep her picture on my desk, and >I savour the memories of the happiness we shared, and I savour the pain freshly >brought with it, for this is who I am. Please forgive me, but I now delve into commentary that I think is useful, but may not be applicable to you. Do not discount the value of controlled anger. I think that it is a mistake to attribute too much virtue to a lost love. I think that it is very rarely realistic to view a lost love as pure and innocent. Again, the specifics of your situation are not clear to me, but properly placed anger can be valuable. It can help you move on, and with perspective, you can realize that neither you nor she was perfect. But I think that anger is more realistic than resignation or altruism. In high school, I had a girlfriend who I really felt strongly about. I asked her to get serious, and she said no, because she was not ready for a serious relationship. Within a year, she was married. Go fucking figure. HOWEVER, in retrospect, I am GLAD it worked out that way, because I had dinner with her and her husband many years later, and I am GLAD I did not marry her. The years add perspective, and I realized that she was NOT my type. She had a lazy mind, she was very limited in experience and desire, and was a lame conversationalist. She WAS a person though, and I am glad she achieved happiness, but I am happy it was elsewhere. > "I have my own life to live now, and I will live it to the fullest I am >able. I will love others, someday, and I will be loved by another one day. >I live for that day, for there is little, if anything, else to live for." I think you are wrong. I love noone in the sense that you mean, and I am unloved in the same sense. But I am most definitely alive. And I have reasons to live. Explore the alternatives. Despite the fact that I disagree with some of your postings, I have an inkling of how you feel, and I wish you luck in your search for the holy grail. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- > "In Time, all things come to pass, > The Neglected become the Loved, > The Loved, become the Hated, > And the Heroes feel the cold hand of Death > Around their throats." I like this. And here is my response: Loves gained and friendships lost Full ahead. Neglect the cost. Hopes fulfilled and dreams denied. Many times the nights you've cried But the world is more than lust and love, You must find the things that count. Things that fill you. Things to kill for. Things you really care about. Sunsets in the dead of night. Calmness in the midst of fright. Daydreams in the bright of day. Meaning things you did not say. Coming when you mean to go. Hiding what you mean to show. Hating what you think you love. Pushing when it comes to shove. Living when you want to die. Laughing when you want to cry. Compassion when you feel contempt. Helping when your heart is spent. Aspire to all this in your heart. It seems to be a descemt start. But hide and hold a core of rage. To warm you at a ripe old age. Good God, what an incredibly lame rhyme. Still the Cynic Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!njin!princeton!phoenix!jwbirdsa From: jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (James Webster Birdsall) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Placeholder Keywords: new system is UR Message-ID: <13571@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Date: 4 Feb 90 21:33:47 GMT Organization: Princeton University, NJ Lines: 21 There is a mass of alphanumeric data sitting in a lump. It shakes and the head of the green Tiger pops out. {Hi. I'm back from vacation now.} He wiggles some more and the data slumps off him. {As you can see, I found a lot of responses. This is what I get for letting a known-corrupt system loose on the net. Thanks anyway, people. I have a lot to say in reply, but no time right now. This is just a placeholder to let you know I'm OK, feeling much better now.} {One bit of advice: beware, beware of old friends you have mentally labeled as 'safe.' They may sneak up and bite you. Of course, this ain't necessarily a bad thing.} He grins a big Cat-grin. {On a more somber note, I propose a moment of silence in honor of the unfortunate Miss Doyle, one more casualty of the Princeton way.} He goes to sit in front of the fire, head bowed... -- James W. Birdsall jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU jwbirdsa@pucc.BITNET ...allegra!princeton!phoenix!jwbirdsa Compu$erve: 71261,1731 "For it is the doom of men that they forget." -- Merlin Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!yale!cs.utexas.edu!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!tank!cps3xx!usenet From: usenet@cps3xx.UUCP (Usenet file owner) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A Little Dream Message-ID: <6296@cps3xx.UUCP> Date: 4 Feb 90 23:55:27 GMT References: <90031.214955EMD101@PSUVM.BITNET> Reply-To: frey@frith.UUCP (Zachary T. Frey) Organization: Michigan State University, College of Engineering Lines: 73 In article <90031.214955EMD101@PSUVM.BITNET> EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu writes: >A short girl with purple socks on is walking up to the bar. >"Sir," deferentially to Mike, "a ginger ale?" She hands over the dollar >(why isn't this place billed as a singles bar?) and steps back to look >around the room. >Not surprisingly she addresses this amicable collection of strangers. >"I've seen a lot of musicians in here, but they all play guitar. Does anyone >play other things? Here's why I ask." She sips her drink. [life of a composer outlined] >"The ideal solution is to have my Own ensemble, of course. >"Ideally this would be like a Team Banzai of music. About six members >besides me, who play various permutations of flute/recorder, oboe, Horns, >clarinets, bassoon, marimba, cello, piano, and other stuff. They can whistle >and sing in a full set of ranges. Obviously not all at once. Maybe they >write too, sheesh, it's not a dictatorship. Sounds wonderful. I'm afraid I'm mostly a classical guitar player, but I used to be good with the trombone and baritone. And I can sort of carry a tune and my singing voice has been judged tolerable. As for writing music -- I've dabbled, but I don't think my stuff is very good. I suspect my talent lies in helping other people realize their ideas more fully. Team Banzai, eh? You mean, as in "Buckeroo Banzai and those hard-rockin' scientists, the Hong Kong Cavaliers?" I'm game for that. :^) >"Naturally the Team members are witty and fun to be around, and like to >discuss physics in their spare time, and eat pizza and play Canasta. How >about it? Would anyone like to be a part of a Virtual n-tet? We could hang >out in Callahan's and talk about the music we would play if we were a >Real n-tet. It's a great idea!" Well, I'm witty, fun to be around, like to discuss physics (what spare time?), eat lots of pizza, and I've even played Canasta before. I don't remember the rules, but I'm always up for being taught (or re-taught) a new card game. (But, I might make you all learn Smear if you make me learn Canasta.) So, am I in? (switch to virtual reality mode) ---- Zach (wearing blue sweatpants and a "MICHIGAN STATE FENCING" sweatshirt this time) reaches behind his chair and pulls out a *very* battered trombone case. You notice a bumper sticker that says "Musicians make better lovers" on the side as he snaps the case open and begins assembling the horn. "Since everyone else is doing their add-libs, I'm going to make you listen to mine," he says, standing up and walking to the chalk line. "I think I'd better play from here -- wouldn't want to knock over anyone's drink, would I?" He warms up with a simple B-flat major scale, and rubs his mouth. "Haven't played in about five years now -- the embouchure's shot. Oh, well, here it goes." The melody of 'Amazing Grace' floats into the bar. Kind of rusty, but acceptable. He puts the horn down. "And now for something completely different --" The patrons look puzzled for a moment, not recognizing the song, and then Zach is forced to dive for cover from a hail of peanut shells as people recognize 'Amazing Grace' played to the rhythem of thetheme from 'Gilligan's Island.' Zach Frey Papernet: Zachary Frey | frey@frith.egr.msu.edu | Usenet: the 514 Virginia St. | frey@msuegr.BITNET | Bellman's E. Lansing, MI 48823 | ...uunet!frith!frey | Paradise. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!cwjcc!ncoast!allbery From: allbery@NCoast.ORG (Brandon S. Allbery) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Ghost-Posting For Jilara Message-ID: <1990Feb4.234809.29908@NCoast.ORG> Date: 4 Feb 90 23:48:09 GMT References: <13515@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <%_3A0|@rpi.edu> Reply-To: allbery@ncoast.ORG (Brandon S. Allbery) Followup-To: alt.callahans Organization: North Coast Public Access UN*X, Cleveland, OH Lines: 71 (...the net.busybody runs out of the shadows at the edge of the barroom. [No, I'm not hiding in the shadows; it's just that when I'm in a hurry, I may run through a wall to get where I'm going; which has a tendency to surprise some people.] "I think I actually have a few minutes to relax now, since I finished repairing ncoast's news system and uunet appears to be somewhat ill at the moment so I can't do what else is waiting to be done." He sidles up to the bar and pulls out a single... a few minutes later, he retires to a seat.) As quoted from <%_3A0|@rpi.edu> by jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu (Jeffrey Young): +--------------- | with people who have no souls. The real Jilara is off in her lonely space, | inhabiting virtual gin-joints. There are a few people who like me for | me, but most don't even want to KNOW the real me... Lord Dunsany once +--------------- Ah, yes. I gave up most of my masks some years ago, although I still have a few: I treat net postings like writing for the most part, which generally puts a veneer on my postings which is rather at odds with my reality. I think most people are *afraid* of whose who shun masks. Maybe it's because something in them begins to wonder why they wear a mask... and maybe because masks help somewhat in interpersonal communications. (The "mask" I mentioned above does help make communication easier.) Or both, or neither; and there may well be other factors involved. My own problems with respect to friends/"soul-mates"/etc. probably have more to do with spending so much time running around doing things; I'm working on that---certainly, I have enough hobbies and other interests to pursue which would allow me to meet more people socially instead of on business or etc., but the day's about 24 hours too short. One's social activities become limited when one's free time starts at 10:30pm.... +--------------- | now and then, all of us find we're playing a rigged game. It's not our | fault. No one plays with cheaters because they WANT to." +--------------- One has to get used to playing rigged games; after all, the whole universe is a rigged game, if you believe the Laws of Thermodynamics. Eventually, one finds that they can gain considerable pleasure from the "little" wins against the house. +--------------- | her. I HATE people who judge by what they THINK they see." +--------------- You know what I hate more? People who judge by the masks that they force on me. (Usually "Brandon, the Computer Geek". If only they knew... of course, I can't be held entirely blameless, since it's hard for someone else to see me doing anything else because of my schedule.) +--------------- | "I've got a helluva lot of skills, myself, and so far it's gotten me nowhere. | If I'm so smart, why ain't I successful? After a while, I realized it's | because the gods have better things for me to do than living in the so-called | American Dream (which is actually pretty nightmarish)." +--------------- Make your own path. I could be in Sillycon Valley with the other folks who know a CRT from a keyboard, but I chose to stay where I wanted to be and do what I wanted to do. I don't make as much money as I could, but I make enough; I'm not all that interested in money anyway, and it's certainly not worth the trade-offs. The "American Dream" can take care of itself; I prefer being happy with what I'm doing. But it's still a bit lonely, as yet. ++Brandon -- Brandon S. Allbery allbery@NCoast.ORG, BALLBERY (MCI Mail), ALLBERY (Delphi) uunet!cwjcc.cwru.edu!ncoast!allbery ncoast!allbery@cwjcc.cwru.edu Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!mailrus!iuvax!pur-ee!pur-phy!maxwell.physics.purdue.edu!sterling From: sterling@maxwell.physics.purdue.edu (Bruce S. Woodcock) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Current Events Keywords: Cha, cha, cha changes!!! Message-ID: <3060@pur-phy> Date: 4 Feb 90 22:38:40 GMT References: <13376@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <11995@csli.Stanford.EDU> <1990Jan30.172136.13712@granite.cr.bull.com> <1990Jan30.202545.18021@granite.cr.bull.com> <4138@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Sender: news@pur-phy Reply-To: sterling@maxwell.physics.purdue.edu.UUCP (Bruce S. Woodcock) Organization: Purdue Univ. Physics Dept., W. Lafayette, IN Lines: 85 Sir Bruce Sterling approaches Jilara's table and bows. >"I know not what the full extent of your quest is. But I can tell you >some of mine. I am a paladin of life, liberty, happiness, and truth. >I seek and defend the following: 1. Truth 2. Friendship 3. Honesty 4. Love 5. Freedom 6. Nobility 7. People >"These are just the major elements of my life; specifics are more difficult >to explain fully. I believe that this is harmonious with some aspects of >your quest as well. An odd light comes into Jilara's eyes. She laughs softly. "An interesting place, this one. I have encountered more idealism herein than any place in the outside world. Rather like a place where paladins come for R&R. I sum up my quest with the inscription I wrote for my own tombstone, years ago: "Her quest was Truth, Her weapon Love." And I intend to buy my own tombstone, set it on the family plot, so that I may indeed have it, and let others wonder over the meaning of those words. I was inspired by one I found years ago, in San Luis Obispo: "Unhampered by religion or creed, he tried to do what was Right." Isn't it interesting what words we write as our Exit Lines?" >"Jilara the Exile, I, Sir Bruce Sterling, ask thee to join my quest. She nods to him, and looks thoughtful. "I suspect that we already are on the same quest. Different roads, with a meeting place here, where roads meet and cross, mayhap." >"If you are agreeable, we could announce this venture to all of callahans. >The choice is yours. All I ask of you is a chance." She looks at him oddly, as if there is some thought not quite ready to be voiced. Shakes her head as if some strange voice has just whispered in her ear. Her voice has an odd quaver when she speaks. "Odd things happpen in this place, friend. Share a glass of subliminal scotch, discuss the things that bind your heart and your path in a corner with some friends, and suddenly, there is an entire group of questors travelling down the road together. And sometimes you meet people you didn't believe existed." She looks over at a table where a former regular, now a misty shadow of his former self, is having a quiet conversation with Taldin. Feeling her gaze, he looks up, looks over at her, and smiles. For just a moment, gazes lock, and a look of ---understanding? ---empathy? ---a shared vision? passes between them. She looks down at her glass and her finger circles its rim, somehow producing a small sighing, singing sound. "A company has formed, a venture decided, somewhat. And Quests discussed here seem to be going on down the road, outside. For me, for several friends, companions, whatever... The Place seems to link with several dimensions. A small group, this white company, and good of heart. Things bound us in the early days, when not so many people were here... And we have the feeling we may be riding away from the Place, fairly soon, because---well---we're questors. Places outside call us. Yet, we walk out the door, and into another dimension, and find the road calls to us there, as a unit, on that Quest. We are seekers of the Dream, spinners of our own reality, and..." Her voice trails off, as if she can't quite find words to suit what she would say. "Life has gotten awfully complex, somehow, somewhere along the corridors between Worlds..." she says in a quiet voice. "This place is a Nexus. Have care what you say and do here, for there are many meetings, and things said and vows made affect many more worlds than this small corner of time and space." She looks oddly at the mist-figure at the next table. "By a knight of ghosts and shadows I am summoned forth to tourney, Nine leagues beyond the wide world's end... Methinks it is no journey..." Her voice trails off, like the tail of a comet fading into the starry void... >"Fair Lady, would you perchance like to dance? I`m sure Fast Eddy could >whip up something appropriate....." She smiles, still an odd look in her eyes. "That, my kind Sir Sterling, is always one of my supreme pleasures, a weakness of the worst sort. I wonder if Fast Eddie knows the Queen of All Argyll? It's always been one of my songs... I would be honored."