over my dead body

Daniel A. Foss (U17043@UICVM.BITNET)
Tue, 30 Jul 1996 21:41:56 CDT

Incredible how I get so *into* narcissistic fixation on by body, if and
only if it's construed as dead. Slightest disturbance from intruder originating
in Normal-land, where y'all live, suffices to facilitate recrudescence of pre-
existing Inadequacies, Inferiorities, and Ugliesalloverme. What's more, there's
some of the female persuasion, even goodish fiends, to tell me, "You know your
reputation on the list!" Often in context of asking phone number so I can
practice English as first language. Some reputation; it'd be lies, weren't
it fakery, qualitatively differentiable therefrom. Things one's gotta
substitute for talent, wattage upstairs, and *gravitas* by way of cheap
showbiz flummery to keep the Real People amused; whence & wherefor they
Tolerate me, to minor extent. BUT KEEPAWAYFROM OUR WIMMIN! Strongest sex
taboo in the culture, Normal women protected by elektrafied fence from
unemployable derelicts/human garbage.

Neatly bypassed in being dead. What threat might my nonoderiferous (stick
deodorant daily), nonobjective dirt on this particular dirty old man, given
four, five baths daily, and best of all, etiolation followed forthwith since
1994 of desire, under elms or Else, for It; though practices my imaginary
associate Louise Liu calls "Erotic Bodily Manipulation" persist. Withal, I
have, nokidding, Experienced (ie, means nothing) a startling decline in
accusations to my face (reference standard was Stony Brook) of having
perpetrated the *less* lurid sexcrimes whereof I'm Suspected. Yet regarded
in absence of Evidence, always an irksome nuisance, of being not so much
Not Guilty, as of being Uncaught. Why I was run outta Stony Brook, actually.
June 12, 1994, blue posters demanding ACTION! June 13, eviction a month before
lease was up. Actual rapist was never caught; it was determined to universal
satisfaction that I nonownershipped a car and firearms. The clincher, of
recent well-hidden appearance, was, uh, sexualdysfunction, primafacie some-
thingieorother. Only I, however, know this. Which, guiltwise, is tremendously
burdenlifting, leadenweightlifting. Nobody else knows; nor may be told, most
of all should I need exculpatory proof.

So, I say, synecdochay-your-partner, you know, and Experience the quondam
Living to the real-thing Dying Death; know the delights of examinign the
expanses of underfed flesh stretching away to the distance, visualize those
downhome Hebrew letters on that ole rock.

Stay tuned, Adrienne Dearmas, I promised Louise, a refugee from the fourth
century, by the way, an introduction youwards towards a Meaningful Discussion
of Erotic Body Manipulation. [Note: The Louise part is recent, for evoking
a lowermiddle upwardstriving image, redolent of the oldtimey Jews. During
a US pillaging of the Southern Empire in the latter 4th C., she was sent
to grad school in World Systems Theory; interviewed throughout an entire
night the Albanian-origin Emperor Valens anent the prospects of using the
Goths just fled across the Danube, this was 376, as "fine soldier material"
for sending to the Mesopotamian front to fight over the Silk Route, oh, no,
not again. See previous posts on this question. On the World Systems Network,
I duly introduced Louise, author of the newly rediscovered and reissued Mirror
Image: Romano-Sassanid Imperial Relations and Silk Route from the Death of
Julian to the Rise of Theodosius. Jiankang, Southern Empire: Jankang University
Press, 391. Which was her dissertation. Without US pillaging, economic
dislocation, and distorted price structures leading to massive famines,
the Usual facts, ie, that the first PhD was granted by Sui Wen Di in 590,
possibly because he was an illiterate half-Mongol boob (and it helps to
know that Mongol women were serious about monogamy, no konkubinz allowed;
and the first books printed by the Chinese state were eleventh century,
that's Northern Song (960-1126). Barbara C. will nail my [deleted] if that's
in error.

Louise changed a lot, not at all for the better, when she read in Jacques
Gernet's History of Chinese Civilization that her "stupid brother," Liu Yu,
military dictator in 402, was to become emperor in 420. Her neice demanded
a male harem of her own on feminist grounds. Which sufficed to shock Chinese,
especially later, about this nasty stuff that went on in the pre-prudish-
period which culminated in female immobility and illiteracy, lives dedicated
to Hemp-Splicing, the most boring textilemaking chore ever invented by the
Mind of Man. Which is later. See, eg, Electric Wheelchairs for the Women
of China, by Ethel Merman.

Despite elaborate crossculturally-uh, stuff, evidence as to how society
X's Perversion is Good Clean Fun elsewhere/when, Louise is susceptible to
charges of Pervert, hence all the foregoing is Disguised for her protection.
It doesn't help that's she's ugly. Just when we'd figured for sure there
was nobody else in the Universe who wants to do what's in Louise's imagination,
we saw this 30-year-old going on 17, with rope in her hair coloured greenish;
rope she was twisting in a bracelet round her delicate wristie; and black
leather plastic made in Lanzhou by Gansu Plastics, with 12-year-olds human-
rights-violated. Violated every which way. Here's how I cheered Louise up.
She's got a far far better claim to have ever being dead than I've got,
which, now that I've suggested it, she should help me out by asserting to
911s she retrieved me, over my dead body, from Jiankang, capital of the
Southern Empire, in 404, when this monk Hui-yuan (334-417) dared to rouse
rabble scribbling his pamphlet far&wide; thingie was called, *Treatise on
why monks are not obliged to pay homage to sovereigns*; and fanatical Buddhist
bloodshed, buddhists murdering, looting, burning, dismembering, just like
Christianity twixt Nicaea and Chalcedon, onliest thingie, this went way way
beyond that stuff. Took whiteman till 1077, in the snowball fight at Canossa,
to come up with this.

Who said, where was the Chinese Patrick Henry. That stuff, can't rightly
recall, 'cept 'twas even crazier than me.

People, you allowed ANTHRO-L to run still; when it does so, it doth not
run deep. Thus, I've stirred up the water, occluded it is, full of mud. Now,
chillun, sing after me, "Gonna drink that muddy water, drink that muddy water
till I think." The other part of the chorus, you, you, and I think, you,
your part is, "Gonna drink that muddy water till I croak." Which part is
easier. Croak or think. I'd rather Croak than Serb, but not much; Elsewise,
go with IBM oneworder.

What does this mean. There is a bit of chop meat up above, here, for
anyone. Throw the chop meat on a bun, for all I care. You won't believe
how hungry us dead guys get, less'n y'r Chinese.

Daniel A. Foss