Two of spades, jack of diamonds, jack of clubs...why have you distubed our sleep:A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel." "And the motto?". "Nemo me impune lacessit." "Who entereth within, a conqueror hath bin; who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win." Someone's in my fruit cellar, someone with a fresh soul- - - Let's go into that cellar and carve ourselves a witch. - 0:11:56 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

People who go to conferences are the ones who shouldn't:Klaatu Barada Nikto - 3:20:42 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MAL- You won't get away from the nutters here! But welcome anyway! There are about six atheists that post regular here and about the same number of nutcases who love to spam the page. - 6:48:02 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 7:22:38 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

The nutcases (supply a verb) another case in point. Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see. - 7:56:47 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Mal:Marlene. Thanks for the generous enumeration. But a welcome can be free from pain while ignored not in ebb. The greeting is endogenous, entre nous. - 8:09:42 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

We can out driving on Slow Hand Row. - 8:24:56 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

PETER--:...Hmmmmm. Atheism in Ireland. Now why hasn't anyone thought of this before? - 15:40:51 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Don't keep the safety on, keep the hammer back. - 16:02:24 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MAL- A biology major? BTW, I was raised by a great uncle who's father was from Ireland. My uncle never attended a church other than to get maried and funerals, including his own. He claimed he was from the "round church" in which the devil could not catch him in a corner. IMO, he was sick of the damn talk against the British. He married an anglican. PETER- Not only in Ireland but it may be a great idea in the Middle East. Just a few days ago we heard all the peace talks and today they are shooting each other again! - 17:28:01 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Steven:PETER<<>> I think atheism would solve a lot of problems in Ireland. - 18:06:00 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Mal:Marlene - thanks for your kind welcome (Belfast Athiest beset by nutters) I don't know who wrote above pretending to be me (I would never say something like "generous enumeration" - probably because I don't know what it means. Peter, yes atheism would solve a lot of our problems here. You simply would not believe how mad the religious lot are here. Recently we had a big bomb in a little town called Omagh and 29 people were blown to pieces. And then all the religious folk were out like flys around a dog shite saying how good god was - but never asking which direction he was looking when the bomb went off. And as for the person pretending to be me - don't be silly now or I'll set a lobster on you. - 20:11:18 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MAL- I suspect the imposter may be a druid. You won't be the only one to not understand his postings. I'm from Canada as are Peter and Joette. We are lucky enough to not have too many killings over religion here although we've had doctors who preform abortions attacked. BUT...as the year 2000 draws near there seems to be an increase in believers in North America. Not only in yur basic xtianity but it all kinds of wierd and wacky supernatural crap. How about there? A resurgence of druidism for example? - 20:37:02 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:STEVEN- If you've have time between bottle feeding, diapers and barffing babies, what is the other book you mentioned by Garry Jennings? I finished Aztec a few days ago and I am really impressed with this author. I know you had given me the names of the other books before and I had written it down but I misplaced the paper I had written it on. This time I'll put it on the computer. - 20:41:08 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- Where IS you girl??? Carl must be on holidays or as the Americans say, vacation. - 20:42:58 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..HI! Well, since nobody has been here, I have found a new playground. It's supposed to be an atheist chat, but it's mostly about sex (not that there is anything wrong with that!). I've been worrying about CARL..he usually tells us when he is going away so I am afraid that I offended him last week or something. CARL, COME BACK!!! Anyway, is it getting cold out there in Maintoba? (It's a mite chilly here) - 21:34:52 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MAL..and a warm and welcoming handshake to you! The bombing in Omagh was a very big news story here, and many us shook our head in wonder. I don't envy the climate in Northern Ireland (but I hear it is beautiful). - 21:36:42 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- NAAAAAAA! Carl doesn't get offended. I think he may be vacationing, googling all those girls on the beach. Where is this atheist sex chat? It's cold at nights here in Maintoba (lol!). - 22:06:43 on 1 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:Marlene..it's WBS..the easiest way to find it is to go into Yahoo and search WBS chat atheist. It will show up, and then you can either just visit, or register. They have a Canadian chat room too. If you go there, I am jobaby39, so let me know it's you! - 1:13:35 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

-----------------A few people have asked for advice on having sex with animals.-------------------- The first rule that leaps to my mind is this:- the animal MUST BE CONSENTING!! If the animal is enjoying the experience of having sex with you, the sex is so much more fulfilling. If the animal is not enjoying it, you are committing rape. If you have to force the animal into anything, stop. I hope most of us would agree that we are animal lovers, sharing sex with our animal partners as a gift of pleasure. Any other attitude toward your animal partner makes you a loathsome, slimy reptile, unworthy of the status of a toad. So there.-------------------- Let's start with bitches.--------------------- Bitches become sexually mature (depending on the size of the breed) at around 8-18 months. The larger the breed, in general, the later they will have their first heat (Oestrous, the bitch becomes fertile after a 5-7 day period of menstrual bleeding. Male dogs become insanely attracted to her scent, and will chew/dig through anything to get at her. This lasts for around 7 days, followed by another 5-7 days of menstrual bleeding. After that the bitch is no longer fertile. Her next heat will follow in six months).---------------------------- Before her first heat, I would recommend a minimum of sexual activity. Let her discover her own place as a dog before confusing her with too much sexuality too soon. By all means caress her entire body, and around her vagina gently. Let her get used to your hands being everywhere on her, but avoid active stimulation of her clitoris at this stage. Cuddle her, and love her for the puppy she is. It is a good time for exploration of her body and genitals for you to get used to the differences between her and a human partner. You will notice that the entrance to her vagina is a 'Y' shape. The tail of the 'Y' points toward her front, and that is where her clitoris is. The lips are coated with a fine velvety fur.--------------------- During the early stages of her first heat, the bitch may become depressed, or even frightened by the sudden changes in her. She may start to wander off in search of a mate. Comfort her and be a friend to her, and don't let her escape off your property. It is now your responsibility, for the next three weeks, to ensure she isn't mated by the sudden hordes of randy male dogs hanging around your house. Let me recommend high wooden fencing, and a handy bucket of cold water for potential suitors.------------------------ After the first bleeding stops, her vagina entrance will have enlarged quite significantly. She may actively invite you to sex by turning her rump toward you, and flicking her tail aside every time you catch her eye. In other words, she is now horny, and it is up to you to relieve her.------------------------ Get naked. All the better to use you whole body in the act. Work with her as though she were human. That is, spend time caressing her, hugging her. Play with her nipples, which will have become larger and more sensitive with her heat. Arouse her as much as you can. When she is really turned on, her vagina will be well lubricated, and she will almost be begging you to make her cum. The best way to do this is to use one or two fingers. If you are a male, do NOT try inserting your dick into her unless she is one of the Giant Breeds, (or you have an exceptionally small dick). If you hurt her, she may become frightened of you, and will not enjoy the sex.---------------------- Move around behind her and insert one finger gently into her, slowly. If she isn't wet enough, use saliva or KY jelly. Don't use mineral oils or anything that isn't used for human sex. As your knuckle brushes past her clitoris, it is likely she will sharply hump her hips downward. This is normal. (It surprised the bejesus out of me the first time it happened) Slowly withdraw your finger, and repeat. She should start humping up and down on your finger quite strongly. Keep in time to her movements, pushing up as she humps down. Use your other hand to caress her nipples and stomach. She will cum fairly quickly and easily (this is why sex with animals is better than humans...). You can tell when she is, as you will feel her vaginal muscles squeezing on your finger and she will start convulsively licking her lips. Try to sustain her pleasure for as long as you can; play with her clitoris. Generally treat her as you would a lover.---------------------- If your bitch is one of the Giant breeds, and you are male, by all means screw her. Highly recommended in fact. She will hump your dick as readily as she will hump your finger. Crouch behind her (or have her stand on a slightly raised platform) and guide your dick into her with one hand. Her tail will probably get in the way (I don't believe in cropping tails either), so you will probably have to drape it over one of your legs. Use your other hand on her hip to steady yourself. When you have your dick firmly in her, you can grasp her hips with both hands and thrust into her. Mmmm, savor that warm, tight pussy. I usually like to bring her to orgasm by hand first, and then screw her afterwards, otherwise she tends to hump on my dick, and I will often fall out of her. Feel free to cum inside her. You will enjoy it immensely, and it is impossible to get her pregnant on human semen.-------------------------- After you have both orgasmed, she will probably become very affectionate (if she enjoyed it) and playful. Lie with her for a bit, stroking her, and telling her you love her. You will communicate your feelings to her.------------------- Don't feel constrained to wait for her next season for sex. Between heats, she will still be receptive to sex, but you may find she is a bit tighter. You will probably have difficulty inserting your penis fully into her. Don't force it; you don't ever want to hurt her, betraying her trust in you.-------------------- Some variations:- Suck on her nipples, with her standing or laying down. I find that very stimulating for both of us. You may like to lick her vulva and clitoris. I don't enjoy that much, but give it a go. She will love it. Not many dogs are into anal sex, but one or two don't mind. They seem to be the exception though. If your bitch doesn't like it, don't force it, or you will cause her to resent you. If she does like it, (as my bitch Xanth does) then anal sex is great. While your are screwing her arse, you can be masturbating her vagina. The sensations on your dick are, well, indescribable. Caution here:- NEVER move your dick from her anus to her vagina; you will carry bacteria, and it is likely she will get an unpleasant infection. The reverse is highly recommended though; going from her vagina to her anus, as you will be well lubricated, and it will be easier to enter her. I would also suggest you wash the feces off your dick afterward fairly quickly too.------------------------- For a change, you can screw her missionary style; her on her back, and you laying on top. Be prepared for frustration, as they don't quite seem to be built correctly to enter from that angle.------------------------- Bitches don't seem too keen on either human semen, or licking human vagina. Sorry. Again, Xanth is an exception, and it is quite pleasant to place my dick in the side of her mouth, and jerk myself off though her jowls. She does like the taste of my semen, and I do cum in her mouth (and she does swallow).----------------------------- I think that is about the limit of what you can do with a bitch. They don't seem too keen on cross-dressing, or wearing rubber, so onward to male dogs.---------------------------- Dogs are the greatest sex-toy invented, for both men and women. They are ALWAYS horny, and get really enthusiastic about sex.------------------- They will mature sexually around 8-10 months of age. As with bitches, try to avoid too much deliberate sexual activity before that age. Explore their genitalia and get used to how everything works. Their balls go from almost non-existent at 3 months of age to the serious pieces of sexual apparatus in a black velvet sac at 9 months. A dogs penis mostly stays hidden in his sheath, so get your dog used to you pulling his sheath back, exposing his dick. Caution here:- Do not expose a young dogs penis for too long. The pink flesh is VERY sensitive and can dry out. This is extremely painful for the dog, and he will have difficulty retracting it. Should this occur, lubricate it gently with generous quantities of KY jelly, baby oil, or any lubricant safe for sex, and carefully pull the sheath back over his penis.-------------------- Another note here. A dogs penis is very different from a human penis in shape. I'll give dimensions for Hamlet (my Great Dane). When the dog is fully sexually aroused, the tip of the penis is tapered to a point, with a small, round hole in the end. The taper widens sharply to a diameter of about an inch, then the shaft is about 4 inches long. This meets a swelling of flesh of almost 3 inches in diameter. This is his knot. Then there is a further inch or so of shaft, before it joins the flesh at his groin. Take a deep breath here, that is about 8 inches of dog-flesh! The entire length is more sensitive than the glans of a mans penis. At full arousal, the knot can either be hidden in the sheath, which stretches around it, or outside, with the sheath pulled right back. If it is fully exposed, you will have to wait for the swelling to recede before you can pull the sheath back down.------------------ Masturbation. Jerking your dog off. Great! They love it; never seem to get enough (although, by the gods of Gorgonzola, I do my best to give them enough!).-------------------- Get naked. Heaps more fun. Caress your dog all over his body, around his rump, and over his balls. Tease him a bit. You can tell when they are REALLY turned on, they will butt their heads into your groin if you stop. When you and he are ready, kneel beside him (if you are right handed, kneel on his left side) facing slightly toward his rear. With your left hand, keep caressing him, scratching his head, back and chest. Reach under his belly with your right hand, and between his rear legs. Start by stroking his sheath, then actually hold it with your whole hand and pull it forward and backward along his dick. When he starts swelling, follow the contours of his knot inside his sheath with your fingers opening and closing as they pass over it. Do not touch the sensitive flesh at this stage, or he'll go soft on you, he won't enjoy it.------------------------- He will probably be humping his hips as you are rubbing him now, and you can increase your tempo to match his. While his knot is covered by the sheath, you can squeeze it quite hard, and pull on it quite strongly; it will increase the intensity of his orgasm. By now he should be squirting dog cum quite freely. It is almost clear for the first few squirts, and pales to a milky color later. Keep you fist closed around his knot, and undulate your fingers. Perfect the technique that your dog likes best. He will probably reach his head around and lick his penis while he's cumming. They like the taste of their own cum, and the feel of their tongues on their dicks.------------------ At this point, you can sustain his pleasure, and increase your own by lightly tweaking the tip of his dick with the fingers of your left hand. Keep your other hand clasped around his sheath. You will be rewarded with a volley of fresh squirts of cum. At this stage, I often lick the tip with my tongue, or downright suck on his dick, and drink his cum. NO TEETH!! Don't even touch that sensitive flesh with your teeth!---------------------- Don't be afraid to swallow the dog-cum. It tastes slightly salty, and goes down the throat a lot easier than human cum. Highly recommended.-------------------- When his orgasm is starting to wane, he will probably just wander off, head down, dick hanging between his knees.-------------------------- Girls, dogs love to mount people, and they are passionate, fiery lovers. Get naked. Play with your dog, and get him excited, and aroused. Let him lick your vagina, as that seems to act as a great stimulant for you both. For missionary style, sit on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. Now pat your shoulders and invite your dog to put his paws up there. When he does, lie back, and he will walk his back feet forward between you legs until he is laying on your stomach, with his sheath right over your entrance. Lift your left leg and wrap it over his rump to pull him forward, as you use your right hand to guide his penis into your vagina. It helps to have a partner assisting here. It is easiest for the dog if you keep the tips of your fingers clasping his sheath as a guide when he starts humping into you; it helps stop him pulling out too far.-------------------------- Caution:- if your dog is one of the Giant Breeds, DON'T try to 'tie' with him. When dogs are mating, the knot at the base of their penis swells and lodges inside the bitch, and they get stuck together for up to half an hour, unable to separate. Part of natures delightful way of increasing the chance of impregnation. If you are unable to accommodate a swelling of flesh almost as large as a tennis ball, you may get badly injured (try explaining THAT away at the Accident and Emergency department of the local Hospital!). Seriously though, if he swells inside you, and you aren't able to accommodate him, you will be stuck, in extreme pain, for up to half an hour. If you are unsure, buy a sex toy of similar dimensions as your dogs dick, and practice on that. When it becomes natural and pleasurable, by all means, tie with your dog. Heather has told me that being tied to Hamlet is both erotic, and very fulfilling. He will cum inside you, and that is quite erotic, and you cannot get pregnant from a dog. Go for it, and good luck!--------------------- Letting your dog mount you 'doggy style' is quite natural for the dog, and satisfying too. As above, play with him, get him excited, and then just bend over. For smaller breeds (German Shepherd, Labrador etc.) you will probably have to kneel. Pat your back, and rump, inviting him to mount. He will place his paws on your back. Just bend right over, and he will slide forward and enter you almost effortlessly. It is likely you now have long, red scratches down your back from his claws. Oh well, just say you have a passionate lover! Again, reach around and guide his dick with your hand. He will hump quite enthusiastically, so will need some guidance, and restraint. If he does tie to you, he may want to step off you, and turn away, so you are rump to rump, with him still tied into you. This is natural, as it is how they mate normally with bitches.------------------------- Men, you can let your dog mount you, and screw you in the same way. I can't seem to get Hamlet to enter me missionary style, but I am sure it's possible with other dogs. Experiment with that one and let me know. Doggy style though, is easy, and very fulfilling. The same caution applies as above. DON'T tie with Giant Breeds, unless you have practiced on something the same size. The first time I tied with my first mature Giant (a Newfie called Stan) I couldn't accommodate his huge knot, and he tore out of me. I had rectal bleeding for a week. Nice huh? Don't say I didn't warn you.--------------------- A variation for both men and woman is to have your dog lie on his back on the bed. Straddle him with your knees, facing forward, and lower yourself onto his penis. You can reach around and scratch his balls while you are riding him, or bend forward and let him lick your face. Both are good fun.-------------------- Screwing your dogs anus; well, I've said it before, most dogs aren't interested in arse-play. Hamlet isn't dead keen on it, but will tolerate it while he is orgasming. In fact it seems to intensify his orgasm if I screw him in the final stages of jerking him off. Use PLENTY of lubrication; Too much is nearly enough. Use the same technique as for vaginal intercourse with a bitch; drape his tail over one of your thighs and guide your dick into his hole with one hand, pulling his hips back with your other hand. If he doesn't like it at this stage, he will try and get away. DON'T force him to comply with your perverted desires if he doesn't want to.------------------ If all is going well, you can reach around and tweak the tip of his dick with your fingers. You will feel his rectal muscles clamping onto your dick as he squirts. Very pleasant. Don't spend too long with your dick inside him, or he will get annoyed and not let you near his rear again. Just thrust into him gently a few times. If you are like me, you will find this so stimulating you cum almost instantly anyway. After you withdraw, praise your dog and cuddle him, fondly him, and make him feel good about you, then go and wash your dick well.----------------------- In my experience, all male dogs like the taste of human semen. Whether you just want to quickly jerk off, or after a sustained love-making session with a human partner, let your dog clean you up. They have very soft tongues, and are very careful and gentle. You are denying yourself and your dog a great deal of pleasure if you don't let him lick up your semen.--------------------- A couple of extra points about male dogs:- it is more pleasant sucking on their dicks after they have a bath. It is quite natural for a male dog to have a build-up of a mixture of body fluids, dead skin, and general scum inside their sheath. It probably won't kill you, but the thought of it in my mouth makes me feel queasy, so a quick cleaning session is called for.---------------------- Dogs are great partners in threesomes (in any combinations of humans and dogs). Experiment, have fun.------------------------------ Spend some time during your love-making with your doggy partner to praise them, and re-assure them. Fondle them, cuddle them, and generally treat them like an equal. They are giving the gift of their love to you too, so don't take them for granted. Afterward, lie with them, hug them, talk softly to them.--------------------------- If you own a dog, and don't have sex with them, think on this; Dogs love sex. They enjoy the sensations of orgasm, and unless you help them to achieve it, cannot achieve it themselves. Think on how frustrated you would be if you couldn't even masturbate yourself when you were horny. As a dog owner, you have taken the animal from his natural habitat where he would mate at every opportunity if he could, and put him in an environment where sex just isn't available. If you love your dog, you should extend the gift of sexual release toward him or her. It will deepen their love for you, and your love for them. I'm not asking you to engage in wild sexual odysseys with your dog (I can highly recommend it as fun, though!!), but at least you could jerk off your male dog, or rub the clitoris of your bitch to relieve them. It isn't unhealthy, it isn't sick, it isn't even perverted (I mean, animal breeders do it for a living). It is love. - 13:30:11 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :MARLENE<<>> the name of the book is "Raptor". You will love it... - 13:30:58 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:STEVEN- Thanks! I've written it down on the computer this time. - 14:15:48 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->STEVEN..sorry about the Rangers..not looking too hopeful. - 14:36:42 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:I was listening to the local radio talk show last night and this guy was on promoting his book. I called in, of course, with such questions as "where is there physical evidence of these aliens" and "if we are so unlike everything on this planet, why are we so genetically close to other primates?". He feels that he's promoting "rationalism" as opposed to "Darwinism" or "creationism". I also mentioned that his theory was just another form of creationism and had nothing to do with rationalism. Another thing he mentioned is that "bigfoot" and the like are real and the photos and videos are actual pictures of the actual evolution of apes. He was also asked if the alien in "Alien Autopsy" wwas one of the aliens that supposedly created humans and he said no. These "greys" are also a "slave" creation of the Anuki just like we are but they live in space stations in our solar system. Their job is to guard the area in case other aliens want to mine the area. I even think Llyod has visited this page before but I hadn't thought to ask him last night. - 15:01:32 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:OOPS! I'll try again. - 15:05:13 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Goodmorning JOETTE! How many bumps do we need to get that crap off the page? - 15:09:45 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

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Almost there - 15:22:17 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

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Marlene:There, that's better! - 15:55:39 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I've been trying to mail you all morning but I keep getting the mail returned. Did you change your address? - 16:58:54 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

It looks as though I'll have to make a few more posts for that bump - 17:00:25 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

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Marlene:Instead of all the bumps, I'll mention a few more things Pye had to say on "rationalism" last night. These Anuki hale from a planet that epilitical(sp) path in our solar system and the only reason we haven't seen this palnet is that it's orbit reaches beyond our scope. It's due back by the Earth about 3400AD. - 17:15:57 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:The Anuki themselves said they were created by the big "g" god. - 17:17:50 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:The Sumerians were stoneage people. - 17:19:06 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:When the Anuki arrive back here on Earth, we humans will have either reached our full potenial or have destroyed ourselves. - 17:20:40 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:There! Finally that crap is gone! - 17:21:32 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:OOPS! I see that while bumping all that crap off the page that I also bumped the name of the person who is promoting that book off and his site. Once again I'll post it - 18:51:15 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :JOETTE<<>> we will see tonight, but you are right, not looking to hopefull. :[ - 18:58:18 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:Marlene...I've been having 'puter problems all week, but my address is still the same. Look forward to hearing from ya! - 19:39:43 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I don't think it's your puter. It seems that my server is blocked from yours. I've been trying to get some info on this all afternoon. Try mailing me will you? - 19:46:07 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I finally got some info on the problem. My provider thinks it may be that your mailserver is down. Still try and mail me if you can, okay. - 20:08:31 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I got your mail and tried to send a reply but I still got the service not available/refused message. Has anyone else tried to e-mail you that you know of? - 22:13:41 on 2 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:--->MARLENE..nobody has let me know..Plan B is: jobaby3998@yahoo.com - 1:53:45 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I sent a e-mail to that address and it didn't come back so let me know if you got it, the other one still isn't working. - 3:16:59 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->Marlene...I sent you a mail, but you are probably sleeping by now! - 6:10:47 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

HOW DARE YOU BUMP ME OFF.....:QUAKE-CHRISTIAN:HERE IS SOMETHING TO CONSIDER AND COULD THIS BE PREDICTED IN THE BIBLE..WAKE UP OUT THERE IND MAN'S BLUFF IN THE YEAR 2000 Gary North http://www.garynorth.com At the end of this letter, I make you an offer: a free subscription to my e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It shows you what you must do to prepare for a collapse. But I don't recommend that you sign up for it before you have read this report. Otherwise, you won't believe me in REALITY CHECK. When I wrote the earliest version of this report in late 1996, very few people outside of the computer industry knew about the Year 2000 Problem, sometimes called Y2K or the Millennium Bug. I had known about it since 1992, but the realization of what it meant did not hit me for over four years. When it finally hit, my life changed. But not as much as it will change in 2000. So will yours. Word is now getting out about the Millennium Bug's threat to all systems. For example, as 1998 began, the press picked up the story of the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which relies on aging IBM mainframe computers that are not 2000-compliant, and which IBM says cannot be made 2000-compliant. This was the first widely circulated admission that one of the America's critical infrastructures is at risk. The story was confirmed when the British equivalent of the FAA admitted that its computers are equally vulnerable. This means that a drastic cut in airline travel will take place in 2000. Yet this realization has not hit investors in airline stocks. They hear, but they do not connect the story with its inevitable implications. This is true in every area threatened by Y2K. Investors hear, but they do not connect. They will connect in 1999. On February 4, President Clinton signed an executive order on Y2K. It warned that government agencies are now at risk. This executive order set up a commission to discover ways to pressure government agencies to get 2000- compliant. Not one cabinet-level Federal agency is compliant today. In the same week, the U.S. Department of Defense's Acting Secretary for Command, Control, Communications and Intelligence resigned. He was in charge of the Department's y2k repairs. Two other senior staff members also resigned. We are still waiting for any money center bank -- or any other bank -- anywhere in the world to announce that it is 100% Year 2000-compliant. The same is true of every phone company, power generation plant, and major city water utility. Yet the public just sits there, as if nothing were at risk. But everything is at risk. THE BREAKDOWN IN THE DIVISION OF LABOR What are you going to be doing for a living in the year 2001? Unless you're a fix-it man living in a small town, you probably won't be doing what you do today. If you make your living in financial services, you will surely be doing something else. If you're a journalist, you will be in a new profession. But what? What other useful service can you provide? You have very little time to make the switch. Let me show you why. We live in a world that depends on a high division of labor. That world has less than three years to go. In one gigantic collapse, the division of labor will implode. This implosion will begin in 1999. It will accelerate in 2000 and thereafter. Those who work in highly specialized fields will find little or no demand for their skills, in the face of an enormous supply of desperate, low-wage competition. Any job classification that did not exist in 1945 will probably not have a lot of demand in 2001, with one exception: computer software programming. The June 2, 1997, issue of NEWSWEEK ran a front-cover story on the looming computer crisis of the Year 2000 -- called Y2K (Year 2 K -- shorthand for a thousand). In the week it the article appeared (late May), the Dow Jones Industrial Average set a record new high. (It was beaten a week later.) If investors believed the information reported in the Newsweek article, the world's stock markets would have collapsed. But they have risen. Clearly, people don't believe the story. That's why a small handful of people can get out now -- out of the stock market, the bond market, and any city over 25,000. Not everyone can get out at the top of a bull market. This includes the "bull market" known as modern industrial society. Pull the plug on the local power utility for 30 days, and every city on earth becomes unlivable. What if the plug gets pulled for five years? How do you rebuild the shattered economy if the computers go down, taking public utilities with them? Without electricity, you can't run the computers. Without computers, you can't fix computers. How can you assemble teams of programmers to fix the mess? More to the point, how do you pay them if the banks are empty? Chase Manhattan Bank has 200 million lines of code to check and then repair. Citicorp has 400 million lines. All big banks are similarly afflicted. And even if this could be fixed, bank by bank, there is no universal repair standard. Thus, the computers, even if fixed (highly doubtful) will not work together after the individual repairs. A noncompliant bank's data will then make every compliant bank noncompliant. Thus, the world banking system will crash in 2000. When the public figures this out in 1999, the bank runs will begin. Then there are the gigantic Japanese banks, the European banks, and Latin American banks. The managers of these banks are not nearly so far along in awareness as U.S. bankers, yet as of February, 1998, there is not one 2000-compliant money center bank in the United States. Banking is international. It is a system. A breakdown of the computers in thousands of banks will affect all of them. Even if every U.S. bank could achieve 2000-compliance, what good would this do if the other nations' banks don't? But almost nobody discusses this. The United States is dependent on what the computer programmers in all the other countries do. Today, they're doing almost nothing on Y2K. Bank runs are inevitable. The public will eventually figure out what's going to happen. On that day, the runs will begin. The modern world economy will begin to shut down. My conclusion: You probably will not have your present job in 2001. ELECTRICAL POWER: OUR LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEM Take a look at BUSINESS WEEK (March 2, 1998). The headline is mild; the facts in the story are terrifying. The central industry on earth is now at risk: electrical power. The story reported: In particular, electric utilities are only now becoming aware that programmable controllers -- which have replaced mechanical relays in virtually all electricity-generating plants and control rooms -- may behave badly or even freeze up when 2000 arrives. Many utilities are just getting a handle on the problem. "It's probably six months too soon for anyone to try to guess the complete extent of the problem," says Charlie Siebenthal, manager of the Year 2000 program at the Electric Power Research Institute, the industry group that serves as an information clearinghouse. "We don't know" if electricity flow will be affected, he said. Got that? The agency that charges $75,000 to each of its members to be part of a Y2K repair information forum tells us, "we don't know." The agency that represents the most important industry on the face of the earth says, "we don't know." But your friends and relatives do. They say, "We know: no problem." They ignore the facts, such as: Nuclear power plants, of course, pose an especially worrisome problem. While their basic safety systems should continue to work, other important systems could malfunction because of the 2000 bug. In one Year 2000 test, notes Jared S. Wermeil, who is leading the millennium bug effort at the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, the security computer at a nuclear power plant failed by opening vital areas that are normally locked. For that reason, the NRC is in the process of issuing a letter requesting confirmation from utilities that their plants will operate safely come Jan. 1, 2000. Given the complexity and the need to test, "it wouldn't surprise me if certain plants find that they are not Year 2000-ready and have to shut down," says Wermeil. Given the fact that of the 108 nuclear power plants in the U.S., not one is 2000-compliant, I think this is a safe prediction. The experts in this field are supposed to know. Our lives depend on a continuous supply of electrical power to run all of the infrastructures. If this supply line breaks, the entire civilization breaks. If the whole grid goes down, local systems will not be able supply power to systems that are down. Every regional system depends on the others to supply power to reboot it if it goes down. But an overload condition could hit them all. How can they reboot the components of the system if the system itself is down? Or if most of the components are down? How do we recover from Y2K if there is no power? How long will this take? A decade? What happens to the division of labor that makes possible complex power generation systems if they go down? If we can't recover power because the power is off, what happens to 250 million Americans, most of whom live in cities that will not survive if the power goes off? "We don't know." It gets worse. Rick Cowles works as a Y2K advisor for power generating companies -- big ones. Here is his assessment, as of February 27: the industry will not make it. It won't even come close. He writes: "Most electric utilities are still, for the most part, in the awareness/inventory stage of Y2k. Some are actually still fighting about 'how to conduct inventory'. There is very little upper management appreciation of the depth of the Y2k issue." My comment: according to the California White Paper (the state of California's official guideline), awareness counts for 1% of a repair project; inventory is 1%. When you've completed the inventory, you have 98% of the project ahead of you. Cowles' sample of America's power companies indicates that most of them have not completed their inventory. He goes on: Not one electric company has started a serious remediation effort on its embedded controls. Not one. Yes, there's been some testing going on, and a few pilot projects here and there, but for the most part it is still business-as-usual, as if there were 97 months to go, not 97 weeks. Almost all electric utility projects are severely understaffed. I was at an independent generating company this week, which is responsible for production of nearly 3000 megawatts between just two large generating plants. This company still doesn't have a single full-time person dedicated to Y2k, and this includes the project manager. This is a . . . $5 billion operation, and their management has committed only a few hundred thousand dollars of 'seed money' to the project. I sincerely feel sympathy for the Y2k project manager. My conclusion is simple: It is time for you to begin taking Y2K seriously -- a lot more seriously than the public does. The public's apathy is the only thing that allows you a little more time to get prepared. "IT JUST CAN'T BE TRUE!" You don't believe me, of course. Not yet. But I have published the evidence on my Web site. You can verify what I'm saying. But you still won't believe it. Why not? Because it's too painful. In their book, THE SOVEREIGN INDIVIDUAL, Davidson and Rees-Mogg make a very important observation: A recent psychological study disguised as a public opinion poll showed that members of individual occupational groups were almost uniformly unwilling to accept any conclusion that implied a loss of income for them, no matter how airtight the logic supporting it. Given increased specialization, most of the interpretive information about most specialized occupational groups is designed to cater to the interests of the groups themselves. They have little interest in views that might be impolite, unprofitable, or politically incorrect (p. 339). My views are all three: impolite, unprofitable, and politically incorrect. Impolite, because I am saying this: (1) those advising you are as blind as an eighth-century Israelite king; (2) they have given you information that will prove to be wildly unprofitable; (3) all the hype about your getting rich -- the world's getting rich -- is a clap-trap. We are heading for a disaster greater than anything the world has experienced since the bubonic plague of the mid-14th century. Because the year 2000 begins on a Saturday, millions of victims will not be aware of their dilemma until the following Monday or Tuesday. They will pay no attention to advance warnings, such as this one, that they are at risk. As you read this report, I want you to think to yourself: "How will this affect me? Is my business at risk? Is my income at risk? What should I do?" I also want you to visit my Web site, http://www.garynorth.com and examine the accumulating evidence, week by week. THE ORIGIN OF THE PROBLEM Here is the problem. Over four decades ago, computer programmers who wrote mainframe computer software in a way that saved punch card space -- two digits out of 80 -- by designating year codes as two-digit entries: 67 instead of 1967, 78 instead of 1978, etc. Back then, saving this seemingly minuscule amount of space seemed like an economically wise decision. This may prove to be the most expensive forecasting error since Noah's flood. What the programmers ignored is this: in the year 2000, the two digits will be 00. The computer will sit there, looking for a year. At midnight, January 1, 2000, every mainframe computer using unrevised software dies or else gets unreliable -- very, very sick. Programmers who recognized the implications of this change did not care or could not persuade their employers. They assumed that their software would be updated by year 2000. That assumption now threatens every piece of custom software sitting on every mainframe computer, unless the owner of the computer has had the code rewritten. In some cases, this involves coordinating two billion lines of code. (Example: General Motors) One error on one line can shut down the whole system, the way that America Online was shut down for a day in 1996 because of a one-digit error. The handful of reporters who have investigated this problem have met a wall of indifference. "We're all using microcomputers now." "This is a problem only for a few companies that are still using mainframes." "Cheap solutions will appear as soon as there is demand." "The software will be updated soon, and I'll buy it then." LARGE ORGANIZATIONS RELY ON BAD LEGACY CODE On September 24, 1996, Congressman Stephen Horn, who is Chairman of the Subcommittee on Government Management, Information, and Technology, submitted to the full committee a report on the Year 2000 problem. The Subcommittee held hearings on April 16. He said that these hearings revealed "a serious lack of awareness of the problem on the part of a great number of people in business and government. Even more alarming was the cost estimate reported to the Subcommittee to remedy the problem, which was said to be $30 billion for the Federal Government alone." Then he announced: Without greater urgency, those agencies risk being unable to provide services or perform functions that they are charged by law with performing. Senior agency management officials must take aggressive action if these problems are to be avoided. Yet despite Horn's 1996 warning, nothing much has happened since then, as he continues to remind us in public hearing after hearing. In late 1997, he gave near-failing grades to the Department of Defense and the Department of Transportation. Also to the Treasury Department, which is where investors have put seven trillion dollars, not counting Social Security. These agencies must shift hundreds of millions of dollars from their existing budgets to hire outside programmers to rewrite the code that runs these agencies. This isn't being done. More to the point, the longer they delay, the worse the problem gets. You can't just go out and hire programmers who are familiar with the code. As businesses find out what threatens them, the demand for these highly specialized services will soar. (If businessmen don't figure this out in time, payment will come due in January of 2000.) The Subcommittee's 1996 report warned: "This issue may cause banks, securities firms and insurance companies to ascertain whether the companies they finance or insure are year 2000 compliant before making investment decisions." It also said that companies will start demanding contractual warranties guaranteeing against Year 2000 breakdowns. In 1999, there will be international bank run, when depositors demand cash. But there is very little cash available. This will threaten banks with bankruptcy (bank + rupture = bankruptcy). Withdrawals will then be prohibited by the government. Bureaucrats will ration your own money back to you. If electricity goes off completely for as short a period as a month, cities will become unhabitable. The Subcommittee's 1986 report warned: The clock is ticking and most Federal agencies have not inventoried their major systems in order to detect where the problem lies within and among each Federal department, field office and division. The date for completion of this project cannot slip. By "cannot," the Subcommittee's report-writer meant "must not." The date can surely be allowed to slip. It almost certainly will be allowed to slip. Additionally, the task may be more difficult for the public sector, where systems have been in use for decades, may lack software documentation and therefore increase the time it takes from the inventory phase to solution. Did you get that? The software code's records are gone! Remember also that we're not just talking about the United States government. We're talking about every government -- national, state, and local -- anywhere on earth that has its data stored on an unrevised mainframe computer system or which relies on any third-party computer service that uses uncorrected software. Congressman Horn released a report on December 11, 1997. He warned: "Another year has passed and the latest data show that the current work on the year 2000 problems in Federal computers is unacceptable and potentially disastrous." That same day, he wrote a letter to the Director of the Office of Management and Budget. He said (underlined): "Unfortunately, at the current rate of progress, most Federal systems will not be able to handle the date change by January 1, 2000." KISS MEDICARE GOODBYE Some 38 million people will receive Medicare payments in 1997. In 2000, an estimated one billion claims will be filed, totalling over $288 billion. This, according to a May 16, 1997 report of the General Accounting Office (GAO): "Medicare Transaction System." Problem: the Medicare system won't make it through 2000. The same GAO report shows why. Medicare claims are not actually administered by Medicare. It's administered by 70 private agencies. These agencies have been informed that their contracts will not be renewed in 2000. The agency that officially supervises Medicare has plans for one huge computer system that will bring the program in-house. It is the same dream that motivated the Internal Revenue Service for the past 11 years. The IRS announced earlier this year that after 11 years and $4 billion, the attempt had failed. Medicare now knows that it has a problem with its computers. They are not Year 2000-compliant. So, to make sure that they will be compliant, Medicare has issued an appeal to the 70 newly canned companies: please fix the year 2000 problem for us before you leave. As the GAO report puts it, "contractors may not have a particularly high incentive to properly make these conversions. . . ." What if the system fails? (What if? Are they kidding? When!) The report says that the Health Care Financing Administration (HCFA), which is responsible for running Medicare, has not made contingency plans. "HCFA officials are relying on the contractors to identify and complete the necessary work in time to avoid problems. Yet the . . . . contractors not only have not developed contingency plans, they have said that they do not intend to do so because they believe that this is HCFA's responsibility." In the fall of 1997, President Clinton killed the entire Medicare Transition project. It had failed. But the Millennium Bug is still present, waiting patiently to shut down the entire Medicare system. The public is not aware of any of this, even though it's in the public record. Psychological denial is universal. KISS THE IRS GOODBYE The Internal Revenue System has 100 million lines of code. (Well, other reports say 70 million, 60 million, or whatever -- they really don't know.) Their code is not year 2000-compliant. After the failure of the 11-year project to upgrade the system, Chief Information Officer Arthur Gross announced that getting the IRS year 2000-compliant is the "highest priority for the IRS." In April of 1998, he left the IRS. But what he had revealed is startling. The IRS has nearly 50,000 code applications to coordinate and correct. This task will require the IRS to move 300 full-time computer programmers to the new project. For comparison purposes, consider the fact that the Social Security Administration began working on its year 2000 repair in 1991. Social Security has 30 million lines of code. By June, 1996, the SSA's 400 programmers had fixed 6 million lines. (A year later, they claimed they had corrected 18 million lines. But then the word got out: they had discovered another 33 million lines administered by 50 states -- all of which ties into the SSA system. The SSA now says that this new code -- noncompliant -- is not "mission-critical." They are simply defining the problem out of bureaucratic existence. But they can't define the Bug out of electronic existence.) What if the IRS isn't technically equipped to pursue tax evaders after December 31, 1999? What if the IRS computer system isn't fully integrated with all of its branch offices? What if the system's massive quantities of forms are not stored in a computer system that is Year 2000-compliant? More to the point, what if 20% of America's taxpayers believe that the IRS can't get them if they fail to file a return? In 1999, the IRS may find a drop in compliance from self-employed people. If the IRS can't prosecute these people after 1999, there will be a defection of compliance by the self-employed. When word spreads to the general public, there will be a hue and cry -- maybe at first against the evaders, but then against employers who are sending in employees' money when self-employed people are escaping. Meanwhile, cash-only, self-employed businesses will begin to lure business away from tax-compliant businesses by offering big discounts. This will start happening all over the world. Once it begins, it will not easily be reversed. The tax system rests on this faith: (1) the government will pay us what it owes us; (2) the government can get us if we stop paying. Both aspects of this faith will be called into question in the year 2000 if the governments' computers are not in compliance. Big Brother is no more powerful than his software. On January 1, 2000, this strength may fall to zero. Actually, double zero. If the IRS cannot collect taxes, and if all the other mainframe computer-dependent tax collection agencies on earth do not fix this, what will happen to the government debt markets worldwide? To interest rates? To the government-guaranteed mortgage market? Kiss them all goodbye. "NO PROBLEM! TRUST ME!" When I wrote the first version of this report in 1996, there are a handful of conservative financial newsletter writers who had heard about Y2K. They all denied its economic relevance. They all know about it today, but virtually none of them warns his subscribers. To do so would be a belated admission that "North was right," and there is no way to protect yourself except by survivalist techniques, which most of them except Don McAlvany and Larry Abraham have long since dismissed as silly. To admit that I'm right would involve eating gigantic quantities of crow in full public view. It isn't going to happen. Besides, a shut-down of all mainframe computers would mean that newsletter writers will be out of business after 1999 -- a thought too terrifying for them. So, they still brush Y2K aside with some version of this rebuttal: "Of course, the government may not get its computers fixed." This is supposed to calm you. It should terrify you. Ask yourself: What happens to T-bills and T-bonds if the IRS computer breaks down and a tax revolt spreads because taxpayers know the IRS will never find them, and that if they pay their taxes, they won't get their refunds? What happens to money market funds and bond funds that invest heavily in government debt when investors realize that if the IRS can't collect taxes, the government will default on its debt? What happens to the banks when depositors figure out that the FDIC is bankrupt and that nobody insures their accounts any more? What happens to your job when the banks close because of bank runs, and no business can borrow money or even write a check to its employees? What happens to the delivery of food into cities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to the delivery of public utilities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to your retirement fund when ERISA, the government pension guarantee program, goes bankrupt? What happens to the 38 million people in the U.S. who are dependent on Medicare? What happens to 42 million people on Social Security? What happens to every state government? What happens to crime rates when the state cannot imprison violent criminals and may have to release those who are locked up because they can't be fed? What happens to the world economy when this scenario is multiplied across every government? Kiss you job goodbye. Especially if you're a journalist. I know. I am one. I figure I'll be out of work -- forced retirement -- January 1, 2000. I'm making plans to be in small-scale agriculture. I'm out of debt. What about you? PSYCHOLOGICAL DEFERRAL Those in authority prefer to defer thinking about this. They are playing Scarlett O'Hara: "I'll think about it tomorrow," followed by, "Well, fiddle dee-dee." Deferral is a normal response to distant problems. The question is: What can we afford to defer? People defer making this assessment. The fact that you have not read much about this looming problem doesn't mean that it isn't a problem. If your employer has not actively sought solutions to this problem, your firm had better not use mainframe computers or be dependent on suppliers that rely on mainframe computers. Everyone assumes that someone else is doing something to solve these problems. "It's being taken care of." The problem here is the passive voice. Who, exactly, is taking care of it? What, exactly, is this person doing? Is he on schedule? How do you know for sure? Are you taking his word for it? Anyone who takes the word of a computer programmer that he is on schedule is a person of very great faith. If the programmer says "Sorry, I didn't make it" on December 31, 1999, you're dead in the water. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO, BEGINNING TODAY First, you investigate whether what I'm saying is true. Second, think through what happens to you if the local power company and the local water and sewage company shut down in your city for six months. "Who ya gonna call?" Especially if your phone is dead? And if you do get through, how ya gonna pay if your local bank is defunct? Third, here is my personal strategy. I have adopted a question: "Can I prove on paper that he owes it to me?" I want hard copy print-outs of everything I do with the government. If you are owed money from Social Security, and you're dependent on this income, contact the Social Security Administration every year and get a letter telling you what you're owed. This is true of every government pension system. Do you have a copy of your birth certificate? If not, write to your place of birth and get it. Even if that community has not computerized the records, do it now. Even if it keeps the records in a desktop, do it. If word starts to spread, they may be buried in requests in 1999. You want your paperwork completed before word gets out. Do you have a copies of your educational transcripts? If not, get them. The same goes for your work record history. Assume that your records are in some company's mainframe computer. Assume also that the company has failed to update the software. Do you have a print-out of all of your insurance records? Would they stand up in court? If not, get what you need, now. Have you spoken with your local insurance agent? Is he fully aware of the problem? Ask him straight out if he has scheduled an update of his software if he relies on vendor-supplied software. He deserves to know what is coming. So do you. (If you want to photocopy this issue to send him, go ahead.) Think through this problem in advance, before it gets out and creates a banking panic, all over the world. This story will get out eventually. In 1999, when reporters are running around looking for sensational Year 2000-third millennium stories, this one will at last surface. At that point, every government bureaucrat whose agency is at risk will start playing the "No problem" game. "It's being taken care of." The bureaucrat's number-one rule is to evade responsibility. No one with any authority is going to admit that his malfeasance in office is going to create a disaster on Jan. 1, 2000. The basic response will be this: "There's no problem here, and furthermore, I'm not responsible when everything collapses next year!" A FREE SUBSCRIPTION I publish an e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It covers aspects of the Year 2000 Problem. There is no other Web-based newsletter like it. It comes out at least once a month and sometime more often, if there is something significant happening. I cover what you need to do to get ready for a depression -- or worse. But if you don't visit my Web site regularly, you probably won't believe me. Address: http://www.garynorth.com Please, do not sign up for REALITY CHECK if you aren't really concerned about Y2K. In it, I "preach to the converted." It will only bother you if you have not visited my Web site and read a few dozen of its posts. The newsletter is not designed to persuade; it's designed to motivate people to take action while there's still time. There isn't much time remaining. You can receive it by clicking through: mailto:list-request@metanet.net In the Message Box, write: subscribe remnant-list You don't need to write anything in the smaller Subject Box unless your e-mail software requires this. - 13:16:32 on 25 Sep 98 GMT - 11:55:40 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

HOW DARE YOU BUMP ME OFF.....:QUAKE-CHRISTIAN:HERE IS SOMETHING TO CONSIDER AND COULD THIS BE PREDICTED IN THE BIBLE..WAKE UP OUT THERE IND MAN'S BLUFF IN THE YEAR 2000 Gary North http://www.garynorth.com At the end of this letter, I make you an offer: a free subscription to my e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It shows you what you must do to prepare for a collapse. But I don't recommend that you sign up for it before you have read this report. Otherwise, you won't believe me in REALITY CHECK. When I wrote the earliest version of this report in late 1996, very few people outside of the computer industry knew about the Year 2000 Problem, sometimes called Y2K or the Millennium Bug. I had known about it since 1992, but the realization of what it meant did not hit me for over four years. When it finally hit, my life changed. But not as much as it will change in 2000. So will yours. Word is now getting out about the Millennium Bug's threat to all systems. For example, as 1998 began, the press picked up the story of the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which relies on aging IBM mainframe computers that are not 2000-compliant, and which IBM says cannot be made 2000-compliant. This was the first widely circulated admission that one of the America's critical infrastructures is at risk. The story was confirmed when the British equivalent of the FAA admitted that its computers are equally vulnerable. This means that a drastic cut in airline travel will take place in 2000. Yet this realization has not hit investors in airline stocks. They hear, but they do not connect the story with its inevitable implications. This is true in every area threatened by Y2K. Investors hear, but they do not connect. They will connect in 1999. On February 4, President Clinton signed an executive order on Y2K. It warned that government agencies are now at risk. This executive order set up a commission to discover ways to pressure government agencies to get 2000- compliant. Not one cabinet-level Federal agency is compliant today. In the same week, the U.S. Department of Defense's Acting Secretary for Command, Control, Communications and Intelligence resigned. He was in charge of the Department's y2k repairs. Two other senior staff members also resigned. We are still waiting for any money center bank -- or any other bank -- anywhere in the world to announce that it is 100% Year 2000-compliant. The same is true of every phone company, power generation plant, and major city water utility. Yet the public just sits there, as if nothing were at risk. But everything is at risk. THE BREAKDOWN IN THE DIVISION OF LABOR What are you going to be doing for a living in the year 2001? Unless you're a fix-it man living in a small town, you probably won't be doing what you do today. If you make your living in financial services, you will surely be doing something else. If you're a journalist, you will be in a new profession. But what? What other useful service can you provide? You have very little time to make the switch. Let me show you why. We live in a world that depends on a high division of labor. That world has less than three years to go. In one gigantic collapse, the division of labor will implode. This implosion will begin in 1999. It will accelerate in 2000 and thereafter. Those who work in highly specialized fields will find little or no demand for their skills, in the face of an enormous supply of desperate, low-wage competition. Any job classification that did not exist in 1945 will probably not have a lot of demand in 2001, with one exception: computer software programming. The June 2, 1997, issue of NEWSWEEK ran a front-cover story on the looming computer crisis of the Year 2000 -- called Y2K (Year 2 K -- shorthand for a thousand). In the week it the article appeared (late May), the Dow Jones Industrial Average set a record new high. (It was beaten a week later.) If investors believed the information reported in the Newsweek article, the world's stock markets would have collapsed. But they have risen. Clearly, people don't believe the story. That's why a small handful of people can get out now -- out of the stock market, the bond market, and any city over 25,000. Not everyone can get out at the top of a bull market. This includes the "bull market" known as modern industrial society. Pull the plug on the local power utility for 30 days, and every city on earth becomes unlivable. What if the plug gets pulled for five years? How do you rebuild the shattered economy if the computers go down, taking public utilities with them? Without electricity, you can't run the computers. Without computers, you can't fix computers. How can you assemble teams of programmers to fix the mess? More to the point, how do you pay them if the banks are empty? Chase Manhattan Bank has 200 million lines of code to check and then repair. Citicorp has 400 million lines. All big banks are similarly afflicted. And even if this could be fixed, bank by bank, there is no universal repair standard. Thus, the computers, even if fixed (highly doubtful) will not work together after the individual repairs. A noncompliant bank's data will then make every compliant bank noncompliant. Thus, the world banking system will crash in 2000. When the public figures this out in 1999, the bank runs will begin. Then there are the gigantic Japanese banks, the European banks, and Latin American banks. The managers of these banks are not nearly so far along in awareness as U.S. bankers, yet as of February, 1998, there is not one 2000-compliant money center bank in the United States. Banking is international. It is a system. A breakdown of the computers in thousands of banks will affect all of them. Even if every U.S. bank could achieve 2000-compliance, what good would this do if the other nations' banks don't? But almost nobody discusses this. The United States is dependent on what the computer programmers in all the other countries do. Today, they're doing almost nothing on Y2K. Bank runs are inevitable. The public will eventually figure out what's going to happen. On that day, the runs will begin. The modern world economy will begin to shut down. My conclusion: You probably will not have your present job in 2001. ELECTRICAL POWER: OUR LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEM Take a look at BUSINESS WEEK (March 2, 1998). The headline is mild; the facts in the story are terrifying. The central industry on earth is now at risk: electrical power. The story reported: In particular, electric utilities are only now becoming aware that programmable controllers -- which have replaced mechanical relays in virtually all electricity-generating plants and control rooms -- may behave badly or even freeze up when 2000 arrives. Many utilities are just getting a handle on the problem. "It's probably six months too soon for anyone to try to guess the complete extent of the problem," says Charlie Siebenthal, manager of the Year 2000 program at the Electric Power Research Institute, the industry group that serves as an information clearinghouse. "We don't know" if electricity flow will be affected, he said. Got that? The agency that charges $75,000 to each of its members to be part of a Y2K repair information forum tells us, "we don't know." The agency that represents the most important industry on the face of the earth says, "we don't know." But your friends and relatives do. They say, "We know: no problem." They ignore the facts, such as: Nuclear power plants, of course, pose an especially worrisome problem. While their basic safety systems should continue to work, other important systems could malfunction because of the 2000 bug. In one Year 2000 test, notes Jared S. Wermeil, who is leading the millennium bug effort at the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, the security computer at a nuclear power plant failed by opening vital areas that are normally locked. For that reason, the NRC is in the process of issuing a letter requesting confirmation from utilities that their plants will operate safely come Jan. 1, 2000. Given the complexity and the need to test, "it wouldn't surprise me if certain plants find that they are not Year 2000-ready and have to shut down," says Wermeil. Given the fact that of the 108 nuclear power plants in the U.S., not one is 2000-compliant, I think this is a safe prediction. The experts in this field are supposed to know. Our lives depend on a continuous supply of electrical power to run all of the infrastructures. If this supply line breaks, the entire civilization breaks. If the whole grid goes down, local systems will not be able supply power to systems that are down. Every regional system depends on the others to supply power to reboot it if it goes down. But an overload condition could hit them all. How can they reboot the components of the system if the system itself is down? Or if most of the components are down? How do we recover from Y2K if there is no power? How long will this take? A decade? What happens to the division of labor that makes possible complex power generation systems if they go down? If we can't recover power because the power is off, what happens to 250 million Americans, most of whom live in cities that will not survive if the power goes off? "We don't know." It gets worse. Rick Cowles works as a Y2K advisor for power generating companies -- big ones. Here is his assessment, as of February 27: the industry will not make it. It won't even come close. He writes: "Most electric utilities are still, for the most part, in the awareness/inventory stage of Y2k. Some are actually still fighting about 'how to conduct inventory'. There is very little upper management appreciation of the depth of the Y2k issue." My comment: according to the California White Paper (the state of California's official guideline), awareness counts for 1% of a repair project; inventory is 1%. When you've completed the inventory, you have 98% of the project ahead of you. Cowles' sample of America's power companies indicates that most of them have not completed their inventory. He goes on: Not one electric company has started a serious remediation effort on its embedded controls. Not one. Yes, there's been some testing going on, and a few pilot projects here and there, but for the most part it is still business-as-usual, as if there were 97 months to go, not 97 weeks. Almost all electric utility projects are severely understaffed. I was at an independent generating company this week, which is responsible for production of nearly 3000 megawatts between just two large generating plants. This company still doesn't have a single full-time person dedicated to Y2k, and this includes the project manager. This is a . . . $5 billion operation, and their management has committed only a few hundred thousand dollars of 'seed money' to the project. I sincerely feel sympathy for the Y2k project manager. My conclusion is simple: It is time for you to begin taking Y2K seriously -- a lot more seriously than the public does. The public's apathy is the only thing that allows you a little more time to get prepared. "IT JUST CAN'T BE TRUE!" You don't believe me, of course. Not yet. But I have published the evidence on my Web site. You can verify what I'm saying. But you still won't believe it. Why not? Because it's too painful. In their book, THE SOVEREIGN INDIVIDUAL, Davidson and Rees-Mogg make a very important observation: A recent psychological study disguised as a public opinion poll showed that members of individual occupational groups were almost uniformly unwilling to accept any conclusion that implied a loss of income for them, no matter how airtight the logic supporting it. Given increased specialization, most of the interpretive information about most specialized occupational groups is designed to cater to the interests of the groups themselves. They have little interest in views that might be impolite, unprofitable, or politically incorrect (p. 339). My views are all three: impolite, unprofitable, and politically incorrect. Impolite, because I am saying this: (1) those advising you are as blind as an eighth-century Israelite king; (2) they have given you information that will prove to be wildly unprofitable; (3) all the hype about your getting rich -- the world's getting rich -- is a clap-trap. We are heading for a disaster greater than anything the world has experienced since the bubonic plague of the mid-14th century. Because the year 2000 begins on a Saturday, millions of victims will not be aware of their dilemma until the following Monday or Tuesday. They will pay no attention to advance warnings, such as this one, that they are at risk. As you read this report, I want you to think to yourself: "How will this affect me? Is my business at risk? Is my income at risk? What should I do?" I also want you to visit my Web site, http://www.garynorth.com and examine the accumulating evidence, week by week. THE ORIGIN OF THE PROBLEM Here is the problem. Over four decades ago, computer programmers who wrote mainframe computer software in a way that saved punch card space -- two digits out of 80 -- by designating year codes as two-digit entries: 67 instead of 1967, 78 instead of 1978, etc. Back then, saving this seemingly minuscule amount of space seemed like an economically wise decision. This may prove to be the most expensive forecasting error since Noah's flood. What the programmers ignored is this: in the year 2000, the two digits will be 00. The computer will sit there, looking for a year. At midnight, January 1, 2000, every mainframe computer using unrevised software dies or else gets unreliable -- very, very sick. Programmers who recognized the implications of this change did not care or could not persuade their employers. They assumed that their software would be updated by year 2000. That assumption now threatens every piece of custom software sitting on every mainframe computer, unless the owner of the computer has had the code rewritten. In some cases, this involves coordinating two billion lines of code. (Example: General Motors) One error on one line can shut down the whole system, the way that America Online was shut down for a day in 1996 because of a one-digit error. The handful of reporters who have investigated this problem have met a wall of indifference. "We're all using microcomputers now." "This is a problem only for a few companies that are still using mainframes." "Cheap solutions will appear as soon as there is demand." "The software will be updated soon, and I'll buy it then." LARGE ORGANIZATIONS RELY ON BAD LEGACY CODE On September 24, 1996, Congressman Stephen Horn, who is Chairman of the Subcommittee on Government Management, Information, and Technology, submitted to the full committee a report on the Year 2000 problem. The Subcommittee held hearings on April 16. He said that these hearings revealed "a serious lack of awareness of the problem on the part of a great number of people in business and government. Even more alarming was the cost estimate reported to the Subcommittee to remedy the problem, which was said to be $30 billion for the Federal Government alone." Then he announced: Without greater urgency, those agencies risk being unable to provide services or perform functions that they are charged by law with performing. Senior agency management officials must take aggressive action if these problems are to be avoided. Yet despite Horn's 1996 warning, nothing much has happened since then, as he continues to remind us in public hearing after hearing. In late 1997, he gave near-failing grades to the Department of Defense and the Department of Transportation. Also to the Treasury Department, which is where investors have put seven trillion dollars, not counting Social Security. These agencies must shift hundreds of millions of dollars from their existing budgets to hire outside programmers to rewrite the code that runs these agencies. This isn't being done. More to the point, the longer they delay, the worse the problem gets. You can't just go out and hire programmers who are familiar with the code. As businesses find out what threatens them, the demand for these highly specialized services will soar. (If businessmen don't figure this out in time, payment will come due in January of 2000.) The Subcommittee's 1996 report warned: "This issue may cause banks, securities firms and insurance companies to ascertain whether the companies they finance or insure are year 2000 compliant before making investment decisions." It also said that companies will start demanding contractual warranties guaranteeing against Year 2000 breakdowns. In 1999, there will be international bank run, when depositors demand cash. But there is very little cash available. This will threaten banks with bankruptcy (bank + rupture = bankruptcy). Withdrawals will then be prohibited by the government. Bureaucrats will ration your own money back to you. If electricity goes off completely for as short a period as a month, cities will become unhabitable. The Subcommittee's 1986 report warned: The clock is ticking and most Federal agencies have not inventoried their major systems in order to detect where the problem lies within and among each Federal department, field office and division. The date for completion of this project cannot slip. By "cannot," the Subcommittee's report-writer meant "must not." The date can surely be allowed to slip. It almost certainly will be allowed to slip. Additionally, the task may be more difficult for the public sector, where systems have been in use for decades, may lack software documentation and therefore increase the time it takes from the inventory phase to solution. Did you get that? The software code's records are gone! Remember also that we're not just talking about the United States government. We're talking about every government -- national, state, and local -- anywhere on earth that has its data stored on an unrevised mainframe computer system or which relies on any third-party computer service that uses uncorrected software. Congressman Horn released a report on December 11, 1997. He warned: "Another year has passed and the latest data show that the current work on the year 2000 problems in Federal computers is unacceptable and potentially disastrous." That same day, he wrote a letter to the Director of the Office of Management and Budget. He said (underlined): "Unfortunately, at the current rate of progress, most Federal systems will not be able to handle the date change by January 1, 2000." KISS MEDICARE GOODBYE Some 38 million people will receive Medicare payments in 1997. In 2000, an estimated one billion claims will be filed, totalling over $288 billion. This, according to a May 16, 1997 report of the General Accounting Office (GAO): "Medicare Transaction System." Problem: the Medicare system won't make it through 2000. The same GAO report shows why. Medicare claims are not actually administered by Medicare. It's administered by 70 private agencies. These agencies have been informed that their contracts will not be renewed in 2000. The agency that officially supervises Medicare has plans for one huge computer system that will bring the program in-house. It is the same dream that motivated the Internal Revenue Service for the past 11 years. The IRS announced earlier this year that after 11 years and $4 billion, the attempt had failed. Medicare now knows that it has a problem with its computers. They are not Year 2000-compliant. So, to make sure that they will be compliant, Medicare has issued an appeal to the 70 newly canned companies: please fix the year 2000 problem for us before you leave. As the GAO report puts it, "contractors may not have a particularly high incentive to properly make these conversions. . . ." What if the system fails? (What if? Are they kidding? When!) The report says that the Health Care Financing Administration (HCFA), which is responsible for running Medicare, has not made contingency plans. "HCFA officials are relying on the contractors to identify and complete the necessary work in time to avoid problems. Yet the . . . . contractors not only have not developed contingency plans, they have said that they do not intend to do so because they believe that this is HCFA's responsibility." In the fall of 1997, President Clinton killed the entire Medicare Transition project. It had failed. But the Millennium Bug is still present, waiting patiently to shut down the entire Medicare system. The public is not aware of any of this, even though it's in the public record. Psychological denial is universal. KISS THE IRS GOODBYE The Internal Revenue System has 100 million lines of code. (Well, other reports say 70 million, 60 million, or whatever -- they really don't know.) Their code is not year 2000-compliant. After the failure of the 11-year project to upgrade the system, Chief Information Officer Arthur Gross announced that getting the IRS year 2000-compliant is the "highest priority for the IRS." In April of 1998, he left the IRS. But what he had revealed is startling. The IRS has nearly 50,000 code applications to coordinate and correct. This task will require the IRS to move 300 full-time computer programmers to the new project. For comparison purposes, consider the fact that the Social Security Administration began working on its year 2000 repair in 1991. Social Security has 30 million lines of code. By June, 1996, the SSA's 400 programmers had fixed 6 million lines. (A year later, they claimed they had corrected 18 million lines. But then the word got out: they had discovered another 33 million lines administered by 50 states -- all of which ties into the SSA system. The SSA now says that this new code -- noncompliant -- is not "mission-critical." They are simply defining the problem out of bureaucratic existence. But they can't define the Bug out of electronic existence.) What if the IRS isn't technically equipped to pursue tax evaders after December 31, 1999? What if the IRS computer system isn't fully integrated with all of its branch offices? What if the system's massive quantities of forms are not stored in a computer system that is Year 2000-compliant? More to the point, what if 20% of America's taxpayers believe that the IRS can't get them if they fail to file a return? In 1999, the IRS may find a drop in compliance from self-employed people. If the IRS can't prosecute these people after 1999, there will be a defection of compliance by the self-employed. When word spreads to the general public, there will be a hue and cry -- maybe at first against the evaders, but then against employers who are sending in employees' money when self-employed people are escaping. Meanwhile, cash-only, self-employed businesses will begin to lure business away from tax-compliant businesses by offering big discounts. This will start happening all over the world. Once it begins, it will not easily be reversed. The tax system rests on this faith: (1) the government will pay us what it owes us; (2) the government can get us if we stop paying. Both aspects of this faith will be called into question in the year 2000 if the governments' computers are not in compliance. Big Brother is no more powerful than his software. On January 1, 2000, this strength may fall to zero. Actually, double zero. If the IRS cannot collect taxes, and if all the other mainframe computer-dependent tax collection agencies on earth do not fix this, what will happen to the government debt markets worldwide? To interest rates? To the government-guaranteed mortgage market? Kiss them all goodbye. "NO PROBLEM! TRUST ME!" When I wrote the first version of this report in 1996, there are a handful of conservative financial newsletter writers who had heard about Y2K. They all denied its economic relevance. They all know about it today, but virtually none of them warns his subscribers. To do so would be a belated admission that "North was right," and there is no way to protect yourself except by survivalist techniques, which most of them except Don McAlvany and Larry Abraham have long since dismissed as silly. To admit that I'm right would involve eating gigantic quantities of crow in full public view. It isn't going to happen. Besides, a shut-down of all mainframe computers would mean that newsletter writers will be out of business after 1999 -- a thought too terrifying for them. So, they still brush Y2K aside with some version of this rebuttal: "Of course, the government may not get its computers fixed." This is supposed to calm you. It should terrify you. Ask yourself: What happens to T-bills and T-bonds if the IRS computer breaks down and a tax revolt spreads because taxpayers know the IRS will never find them, and that if they pay their taxes, they won't get their refunds? What happens to money market funds and bond funds that invest heavily in government debt when investors realize that if the IRS can't collect taxes, the government will default on its debt? What happens to the banks when depositors figure out that the FDIC is bankrupt and that nobody insures their accounts any more? What happens to your job when the banks close because of bank runs, and no business can borrow money or even write a check to its employees? What happens to the delivery of food into cities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to the delivery of public utilities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to your retirement fund when ERISA, the government pension guarantee program, goes bankrupt? What happens to the 38 million people in the U.S. who are dependent on Medicare? What happens to 42 million people on Social Security? What happens to every state government? What happens to crime rates when the state cannot imprison violent criminals and may have to release those who are locked up because they can't be fed? What happens to the world economy when this scenario is multiplied across every government? Kiss you job goodbye. Especially if you're a journalist. I know. I am one. I figure I'll be out of work -- forced retirement -- January 1, 2000. I'm making plans to be in small-scale agriculture. I'm out of debt. What about you? PSYCHOLOGICAL DEFERRAL Those in authority prefer to defer thinking about this. They are playing Scarlett O'Hara: "I'll think about it tomorrow," followed by, "Well, fiddle dee-dee." Deferral is a normal response to distant problems. The question is: What can we afford to defer? People defer making this assessment. The fact that you have not read much about this looming problem doesn't mean that it isn't a problem. If your employer has not actively sought solutions to this problem, your firm had better not use mainframe computers or be dependent on suppliers that rely on mainframe computers. Everyone assumes that someone else is doing something to solve these problems. "It's being taken care of." The problem here is the passive voice. Who, exactly, is taking care of it? What, exactly, is this person doing? Is he on schedule? How do you know for sure? Are you taking his word for it? Anyone who takes the word of a computer programmer that he is on schedule is a person of very great faith. If the programmer says "Sorry, I didn't make it" on December 31, 1999, you're dead in the water. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO, BEGINNING TODAY First, you investigate whether what I'm saying is true. Second, think through what happens to you if the local power company and the local water and sewage company shut down in your city for six months. "Who ya gonna call?" Especially if your phone is dead? And if you do get through, how ya gonna pay if your local bank is defunct? Third, here is my personal strategy. I have adopted a question: "Can I prove on paper that he owes it to me?" I want hard copy print-outs of everything I do with the government. If you are owed money from Social Security, and you're dependent on this income, contact the Social Security Administration every year and get a letter telling you what you're owed. This is true of every government pension system. Do you have a copy of your birth certificate? If not, write to your place of birth and get it. Even if that community has not computerized the records, do it now. Even if it keeps the records in a desktop, do it. If word starts to spread, they may be buried in requests in 1999. You want your paperwork completed before word gets out. Do you have a copies of your educational transcripts? If not, get them. The same goes for your work record history. Assume that your records are in some company's mainframe computer. Assume also that the company has failed to update the software. Do you have a print-out of all of your insurance records? Would they stand up in court? If not, get what you need, now. Have you spoken with your local insurance agent? Is he fully aware of the problem? Ask him straight out if he has scheduled an update of his software if he relies on vendor-supplied software. He deserves to know what is coming. So do you. (If you want to photocopy this issue to send him, go ahead.) Think through this problem in advance, before it gets out and creates a banking panic, all over the world. This story will get out eventually. In 1999, when reporters are running around looking for sensational Year 2000-third millennium stories, this one will at last surface. At that point, every government bureaucrat whose agency is at risk will start playing the "No problem" game. "It's being taken care of." The bureaucrat's number-one rule is to evade responsibility. No one with any authority is going to admit that his malfeasance in office is going to create a disaster on Jan. 1, 2000. The basic response will be this: "There's no problem here, and furthermore, I'm not responsible when everything collapses next year!" A FREE SUBSCRIPTION I publish an e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It covers aspects of the Year 2000 Problem. There is no other Web-based newsletter like it. It comes out at least once a month and sometime more often, if there is something significant happening. I cover what you need to do to get ready for a depression -- or worse. But if you don't visit my Web site regularly, you probably won't believe me. Address: http://www.garynorth.com Please, do not sign up for REALITY CHECK if you aren't really concerned about Y2K. In it, I "preach to the converted." It will only bother you if you have not visited my Web site and read a few dozen of its posts. The newsletter is not designed to persuade; it's designed to motivate people to take action while there's still time. There isn't much time remaining. You can receive it by clicking through: mailto:list-request@metanet.net In the Message Box, write: subscribe remnant-list You don't need to write anything in the smaller Subject Box unless your e-mail software requires this. - 13:16:32 on 25 Sep 98 GMT - 11:56:19 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

HOW DARE YOU BUMP ME OFF.....:QUAKE-CHRISTIAN:HERE IS SOMETHING TO CONSIDER AND COULD THIS BE PREDICTED IN THE BIBLE..WAKE UP OUT THERE IND MAN'S BLUFF IN THE YEAR 2000 Gary North http://www.garynorth.com At the end of this letter, I make you an offer: a free subscription to my e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It shows you what you must do to prepare for a collapse. But I don't recommend that you sign up for it before you have read this report. Otherwise, you won't believe me in REALITY CHECK. When I wrote the earliest version of this report in late 1996, very few people outside of the computer industry knew about the Year 2000 Problem, sometimes called Y2K or the Millennium Bug. I had known about it since 1992, but the realization of what it meant did not hit me for over four years. When it finally hit, my life changed. But not as much as it will change in 2000. So will yours. Word is now getting out about the Millennium Bug's threat to all systems. For example, as 1998 began, the press picked up the story of the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which relies on aging IBM mainframe computers that are not 2000-compliant, and which IBM says cannot be made 2000-compliant. This was the first widely circulated admission that one of the America's critical infrastructures is at risk. The story was confirmed when the British equivalent of the FAA admitted that its computers are equally vulnerable. This means that a drastic cut in airline travel will take place in 2000. Yet this realization has not hit investors in airline stocks. They hear, but they do not connect the story with its inevitable implications. This is true in every area threatened by Y2K. Investors hear, but they do not connect. They will connect in 1999. On February 4, President Clinton signed an executive order on Y2K. It warned that government agencies are now at risk. This executive order set up a commission to discover ways to pressure government agencies to get 2000- compliant. Not one cabinet-level Federal agency is compliant today. In the same week, the U.S. Department of Defense's Acting Secretary for Command, Control, Communications and Intelligence resigned. He was in charge of the Department's y2k repairs. Two other senior staff members also resigned. We are still waiting for any money center bank -- or any other bank -- anywhere in the world to announce that it is 100% Year 2000-compliant. The same is true of every phone company, power generation plant, and major city water utility. Yet the public just sits there, as if nothing were at risk. But everything is at risk. THE BREAKDOWN IN THE DIVISION OF LABOR What are you going to be doing for a living in the year 2001? Unless you're a fix-it man living in a small town, you probably won't be doing what you do today. If you make your living in financial services, you will surely be doing something else. If you're a journalist, you will be in a new profession. But what? What other useful service can you provide? You have very little time to make the switch. Let me show you why. We live in a world that depends on a high division of labor. That world has less than three years to go. In one gigantic collapse, the division of labor will implode. This implosion will begin in 1999. It will accelerate in 2000 and thereafter. Those who work in highly specialized fields will find little or no demand for their skills, in the face of an enormous supply of desperate, low-wage competition. Any job classification that did not exist in 1945 will probably not have a lot of demand in 2001, with one exception: computer software programming. The June 2, 1997, issue of NEWSWEEK ran a front-cover story on the looming computer crisis of the Year 2000 -- called Y2K (Year 2 K -- shorthand for a thousand). In the week it the article appeared (late May), the Dow Jones Industrial Average set a record new high. (It was beaten a week later.) If investors believed the information reported in the Newsweek article, the world's stock markets would have collapsed. But they have risen. Clearly, people don't believe the story. That's why a small handful of people can get out now -- out of the stock market, the bond market, and any city over 25,000. Not everyone can get out at the top of a bull market. This includes the "bull market" known as modern industrial society. Pull the plug on the local power utility for 30 days, and every city on earth becomes unlivable. What if the plug gets pulled for five years? How do you rebuild the shattered economy if the computers go down, taking public utilities with them? Without electricity, you can't run the computers. Without computers, you can't fix computers. How can you assemble teams of programmers to fix the mess? More to the point, how do you pay them if the banks are empty? Chase Manhattan Bank has 200 million lines of code to check and then repair. Citicorp has 400 million lines. All big banks are similarly afflicted. And even if this could be fixed, bank by bank, there is no universal repair standard. Thus, the computers, even if fixed (highly doubtful) will not work together after the individual repairs. A noncompliant bank's data will then make every compliant bank noncompliant. Thus, the world banking system will crash in 2000. When the public figures this out in 1999, the bank runs will begin. Then there are the gigantic Japanese banks, the European banks, and Latin American banks. The managers of these banks are not nearly so far along in awareness as U.S. bankers, yet as of February, 1998, there is not one 2000-compliant money center bank in the United States. Banking is international. It is a system. A breakdown of the computers in thousands of banks will affect all of them. Even if every U.S. bank could achieve 2000-compliance, what good would this do if the other nations' banks don't? But almost nobody discusses this. The United States is dependent on what the computer programmers in all the other countries do. Today, they're doing almost nothing on Y2K. Bank runs are inevitable. The public will eventually figure out what's going to happen. On that day, the runs will begin. The modern world economy will begin to shut down. My conclusion: You probably will not have your present job in 2001. ELECTRICAL POWER: OUR LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEM Take a look at BUSINESS WEEK (March 2, 1998). The headline is mild; the facts in the story are terrifying. The central industry on earth is now at risk: electrical power. The story reported: In particular, electric utilities are only now becoming aware that programmable controllers -- which have replaced mechanical relays in virtually all electricity-generating plants and control rooms -- may behave badly or even freeze up when 2000 arrives. Many utilities are just getting a handle on the problem. "It's probably six months too soon for anyone to try to guess the complete extent of the problem," says Charlie Siebenthal, manager of the Year 2000 program at the Electric Power Research Institute, the industry group that serves as an information clearinghouse. "We don't know" if electricity flow will be affected, he said. Got that? The agency that charges $75,000 to each of its members to be part of a Y2K repair information forum tells us, "we don't know." The agency that represents the most important industry on the face of the earth says, "we don't know." But your friends and relatives do. They say, "We know: no problem." They ignore the facts, such as: Nuclear power plants, of course, pose an especially worrisome problem. While their basic safety systems should continue to work, other important systems could malfunction because of the 2000 bug. In one Year 2000 test, notes Jared S. Wermeil, who is leading the millennium bug effort at the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, the security computer at a nuclear power plant failed by opening vital areas that are normally locked. For that reason, the NRC is in the process of issuing a letter requesting confirmation from utilities that their plants will operate safely come Jan. 1, 2000. Given the complexity and the need to test, "it wouldn't surprise me if certain plants find that they are not Year 2000-ready and have to shut down," says Wermeil. Given the fact that of the 108 nuclear power plants in the U.S., not one is 2000-compliant, I think this is a safe prediction. The experts in this field are supposed to know. Our lives depend on a continuous supply of electrical power to run all of the infrastructures. If this supply line breaks, the entire civilization breaks. If the whole grid goes down, local systems will not be able supply power to systems that are down. Every regional system depends on the others to supply power to reboot it if it goes down. But an overload condition could hit them all. How can they reboot the components of the system if the system itself is down? Or if most of the components are down? How do we recover from Y2K if there is no power? How long will this take? A decade? What happens to the division of labor that makes possible complex power generation systems if they go down? If we can't recover power because the power is off, what happens to 250 million Americans, most of whom live in cities that will not survive if the power goes off? "We don't know." It gets worse. Rick Cowles works as a Y2K advisor for power generating companies -- big ones. Here is his assessment, as of February 27: the industry will not make it. It won't even come close. He writes: "Most electric utilities are still, for the most part, in the awareness/inventory stage of Y2k. Some are actually still fighting about 'how to conduct inventory'. There is very little upper management appreciation of the depth of the Y2k issue." My comment: according to the California White Paper (the state of California's official guideline), awareness counts for 1% of a repair project; inventory is 1%. When you've completed the inventory, you have 98% of the project ahead of you. Cowles' sample of America's power companies indicates that most of them have not completed their inventory. He goes on: Not one electric company has started a serious remediation effort on its embedded controls. Not one. Yes, there's been some testing going on, and a few pilot projects here and there, but for the most part it is still business-as-usual, as if there were 97 months to go, not 97 weeks. Almost all electric utility projects are severely understaffed. I was at an independent generating company this week, which is responsible for production of nearly 3000 megawatts between just two large generating plants. This company still doesn't have a single full-time person dedicated to Y2k, and this includes the project manager. This is a . . . $5 billion operation, and their management has committed only a few hundred thousand dollars of 'seed money' to the project. I sincerely feel sympathy for the Y2k project manager. My conclusion is simple: It is time for you to begin taking Y2K seriously -- a lot more seriously than the public does. The public's apathy is the only thing that allows you a little more time to get prepared. "IT JUST CAN'T BE TRUE!" You don't believe me, of course. Not yet. But I have published the evidence on my Web site. You can verify what I'm saying. But you still won't believe it. Why not? Because it's too painful. In their book, THE SOVEREIGN INDIVIDUAL, Davidson and Rees-Mogg make a very important observation: A recent psychological study disguised as a public opinion poll showed that members of individual occupational groups were almost uniformly unwilling to accept any conclusion that implied a loss of income for them, no matter how airtight the logic supporting it. Given increased specialization, most of the interpretive information about most specialized occupational groups is designed to cater to the interests of the groups themselves. They have little interest in views that might be impolite, unprofitable, or politically incorrect (p. 339). My views are all three: impolite, unprofitable, and politically incorrect. Impolite, because I am saying this: (1) those advising you are as blind as an eighth-century Israelite king; (2) they have given you information that will prove to be wildly unprofitable; (3) all the hype about your getting rich -- the world's getting rich -- is a clap-trap. We are heading for a disaster greater than anything the world has experienced since the bubonic plague of the mid-14th century. Because the year 2000 begins on a Saturday, millions of victims will not be aware of their dilemma until the following Monday or Tuesday. They will pay no attention to advance warnings, such as this one, that they are at risk. As you read this report, I want you to think to yourself: "How will this affect me? Is my business at risk? Is my income at risk? What should I do?" I also want you to visit my Web site, http://www.garynorth.com and examine the accumulating evidence, week by week. THE ORIGIN OF THE PROBLEM Here is the problem. Over four decades ago, computer programmers who wrote mainframe computer software in a way that saved punch card space -- two digits out of 80 -- by designating year codes as two-digit entries: 67 instead of 1967, 78 instead of 1978, etc. Back then, saving this seemingly minuscule amount of space seemed like an economically wise decision. This may prove to be the most expensive forecasting error since Noah's flood. What the programmers ignored is this: in the year 2000, the two digits will be 00. The computer will sit there, looking for a year. At midnight, January 1, 2000, every mainframe computer using unrevised software dies or else gets unreliable -- very, very sick. Programmers who recognized the implications of this change did not care or could not persuade their employers. They assumed that their software would be updated by year 2000. That assumption now threatens every piece of custom software sitting on every mainframe computer, unless the owner of the computer has had the code rewritten. In some cases, this involves coordinating two billion lines of code. (Example: General Motors) One error on one line can shut down the whole system, the way that America Online was shut down for a day in 1996 because of a one-digit error. The handful of reporters who have investigated this problem have met a wall of indifference. "We're all using microcomputers now." "This is a problem only for a few companies that are still using mainframes." "Cheap solutions will appear as soon as there is demand." "The software will be updated soon, and I'll buy it then." LARGE ORGANIZATIONS RELY ON BAD LEGACY CODE On September 24, 1996, Congressman Stephen Horn, who is Chairman of the Subcommittee on Government Management, Information, and Technology, submitted to the full committee a report on the Year 2000 problem. The Subcommittee held hearings on April 16. He said that these hearings revealed "a serious lack of awareness of the problem on the part of a great number of people in business and government. Even more alarming was the cost estimate reported to the Subcommittee to remedy the problem, which was said to be $30 billion for the Federal Government alone." Then he announced: Without greater urgency, those agencies risk being unable to provide services or perform functions that they are charged by law with performing. Senior agency management officials must take aggressive action if these problems are to be avoided. Yet despite Horn's 1996 warning, nothing much has happened since then, as he continues to remind us in public hearing after hearing. In late 1997, he gave near-failing grades to the Department of Defense and the Department of Transportation. Also to the Treasury Department, which is where investors have put seven trillion dollars, not counting Social Security. These agencies must shift hundreds of millions of dollars from their existing budgets to hire outside programmers to rewrite the code that runs these agencies. This isn't being done. More to the point, the longer they delay, the worse the problem gets. You can't just go out and hire programmers who are familiar with the code. As businesses find out what threatens them, the demand for these highly specialized services will soar. (If businessmen don't figure this out in time, payment will come due in January of 2000.) The Subcommittee's 1996 report warned: "This issue may cause banks, securities firms and insurance companies to ascertain whether the companies they finance or insure are year 2000 compliant before making investment decisions." It also said that companies will start demanding contractual warranties guaranteeing against Year 2000 breakdowns. In 1999, there will be international bank run, when depositors demand cash. But there is very little cash available. This will threaten banks with bankruptcy (bank + rupture = bankruptcy). Withdrawals will then be prohibited by the government. Bureaucrats will ration your own money back to you. If electricity goes off completely for as short a period as a month, cities will become unhabitable. The Subcommittee's 1986 report warned: The clock is ticking and most Federal agencies have not inventoried their major systems in order to detect where the problem lies within and among each Federal department, field office and division. The date for completion of this project cannot slip. By "cannot," the Subcommittee's report-writer meant "must not." The date can surely be allowed to slip. It almost certainly will be allowed to slip. Additionally, the task may be more difficult for the public sector, where systems have been in use for decades, may lack software documentation and therefore increase the time it takes from the inventory phase to solution. Did you get that? The software code's records are gone! Remember also that we're not just talking about the United States government. We're talking about every government -- national, state, and local -- anywhere on earth that has its data stored on an unrevised mainframe computer system or which relies on any third-party computer service that uses uncorrected software. Congressman Horn released a report on December 11, 1997. He warned: "Another year has passed and the latest data show that the current work on the year 2000 problems in Federal computers is unacceptable and potentially disastrous." That same day, he wrote a letter to the Director of the Office of Management and Budget. He said (underlined): "Unfortunately, at the current rate of progress, most Federal systems will not be able to handle the date change by January 1, 2000." KISS MEDICARE GOODBYE Some 38 million people will receive Medicare payments in 1997. In 2000, an estimated one billion claims will be filed, totalling over $288 billion. This, according to a May 16, 1997 report of the General Accounting Office (GAO): "Medicare Transaction System." Problem: the Medicare system won't make it through 2000. The same GAO report shows why. Medicare claims are not actually administered by Medicare. It's administered by 70 private agencies. These agencies have been informed that their contracts will not be renewed in 2000. The agency that officially supervises Medicare has plans for one huge computer system that will bring the program in-house. It is the same dream that motivated the Internal Revenue Service for the past 11 years. The IRS announced earlier this year that after 11 years and $4 billion, the attempt had failed. Medicare now knows that it has a problem with its computers. They are not Year 2000-compliant. So, to make sure that they will be compliant, Medicare has issued an appeal to the 70 newly canned companies: please fix the year 2000 problem for us before you leave. As the GAO report puts it, "contractors may not have a particularly high incentive to properly make these conversions. . . ." What if the system fails? (What if? Are they kidding? When!) The report says that the Health Care Financing Administration (HCFA), which is responsible for running Medicare, has not made contingency plans. "HCFA officials are relying on the contractors to identify and complete the necessary work in time to avoid problems. Yet the . . . . contractors not only have not developed contingency plans, they have said that they do not intend to do so because they believe that this is HCFA's responsibility." In the fall of 1997, President Clinton killed the entire Medicare Transition project. It had failed. But the Millennium Bug is still present, waiting patiently to shut down the entire Medicare system. The public is not aware of any of this, even though it's in the public record. Psychological denial is universal. KISS THE IRS GOODBYE The Internal Revenue System has 100 million lines of code. (Well, other reports say 70 million, 60 million, or whatever -- they really don't know.) Their code is not year 2000-compliant. After the failure of the 11-year project to upgrade the system, Chief Information Officer Arthur Gross announced that getting the IRS year 2000-compliant is the "highest priority for the IRS." In April of 1998, he left the IRS. But what he had revealed is startling. The IRS has nearly 50,000 code applications to coordinate and correct. This task will require the IRS to move 300 full-time computer programmers to the new project. For comparison purposes, consider the fact that the Social Security Administration began working on its year 2000 repair in 1991. Social Security has 30 million lines of code. By June, 1996, the SSA's 400 programmers had fixed 6 million lines. (A year later, they claimed they had corrected 18 million lines. But then the word got out: they had discovered another 33 million lines administered by 50 states -- all of which ties into the SSA system. The SSA now says that this new code -- noncompliant -- is not "mission-critical." They are simply defining the problem out of bureaucratic existence. But they can't define the Bug out of electronic existence.) What if the IRS isn't technically equipped to pursue tax evaders after December 31, 1999? What if the IRS computer system isn't fully integrated with all of its branch offices? What if the system's massive quantities of forms are not stored in a computer system that is Year 2000-compliant? More to the point, what if 20% of America's taxpayers believe that the IRS can't get them if they fail to file a return? In 1999, the IRS may find a drop in compliance from self-employed people. If the IRS can't prosecute these people after 1999, there will be a defection of compliance by the self-employed. When word spreads to the general public, there will be a hue and cry -- maybe at first against the evaders, but then against employers who are sending in employees' money when self-employed people are escaping. Meanwhile, cash-only, self-employed businesses will begin to lure business away from tax-compliant businesses by offering big discounts. This will start happening all over the world. Once it begins, it will not easily be reversed. The tax system rests on this faith: (1) the government will pay us what it owes us; (2) the government can get us if we stop paying. Both aspects of this faith will be called into question in the year 2000 if the governments' computers are not in compliance. Big Brother is no more powerful than his software. On January 1, 2000, this strength may fall to zero. Actually, double zero. If the IRS cannot collect taxes, and if all the other mainframe computer-dependent tax collection agencies on earth do not fix this, what will happen to the government debt markets worldwide? To interest rates? To the government-guaranteed mortgage market? Kiss them all goodbye. "NO PROBLEM! TRUST ME!" When I wrote the first version of this report in 1996, there are a handful of conservative financial newsletter writers who had heard about Y2K. They all denied its economic relevance. They all know about it today, but virtually none of them warns his subscribers. To do so would be a belated admission that "North was right," and there is no way to protect yourself except by survivalist techniques, which most of them except Don McAlvany and Larry Abraham have long since dismissed as silly. To admit that I'm right would involve eating gigantic quantities of crow in full public view. It isn't going to happen. Besides, a shut-down of all mainframe computers would mean that newsletter writers will be out of business after 1999 -- a thought too terrifying for them. So, they still brush Y2K aside with some version of this rebuttal: "Of course, the government may not get its computers fixed." This is supposed to calm you. It should terrify you. Ask yourself: What happens to T-bills and T-bonds if the IRS computer breaks down and a tax revolt spreads because taxpayers know the IRS will never find them, and that if they pay their taxes, they won't get their refunds? What happens to money market funds and bond funds that invest heavily in government debt when investors realize that if the IRS can't collect taxes, the government will default on its debt? What happens to the banks when depositors figure out that the FDIC is bankrupt and that nobody insures their accounts any more? What happens to your job when the banks close because of bank runs, and no business can borrow money or even write a check to its employees? What happens to the delivery of food into cities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to the delivery of public utilities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to your retirement fund when ERISA, the government pension guarantee program, goes bankrupt? What happens to the 38 million people in the U.S. who are dependent on Medicare? What happens to 42 million people on Social Security? What happens to every state government? What happens to crime rates when the state cannot imprison violent criminals and may have to release those who are locked up because they can't be fed? What happens to the world economy when this scenario is multiplied across every government? Kiss you job goodbye. Especially if you're a journalist. I know. I am one. I figure I'll be out of work -- forced retirement -- January 1, 2000. I'm making plans to be in small-scale agriculture. I'm out of debt. What about you? PSYCHOLOGICAL DEFERRAL Those in authority prefer to defer thinking about this. They are playing Scarlett O'Hara: "I'll think about it tomorrow," followed by, "Well, fiddle dee-dee." Deferral is a normal response to distant problems. The question is: What can we afford to defer? People defer making this assessment. The fact that you have not read much about this looming problem doesn't mean that it isn't a problem. If your employer has not actively sought solutions to this problem, your firm had better not use mainframe computers or be dependent on suppliers that rely on mainframe computers. Everyone assumes that someone else is doing something to solve these problems. "It's being taken care of." The problem here is the passive voice. Who, exactly, is taking care of it? What, exactly, is this person doing? Is he on schedule? How do you know for sure? Are you taking his word for it? Anyone who takes the word of a computer programmer that he is on schedule is a person of very great faith. If the programmer says "Sorry, I didn't make it" on December 31, 1999, you're dead in the water. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO, BEGINNING TODAY First, you investigate whether what I'm saying is true. Second, think through what happens to you if the local power company and the local water and sewage company shut down in your city for six months. "Who ya gonna call?" Especially if your phone is dead? And if you do get through, how ya gonna pay if your local bank is defunct? Third, here is my personal strategy. I have adopted a question: "Can I prove on paper that he owes it to me?" I want hard copy print-outs of everything I do with the government. If you are owed money from Social Security, and you're dependent on this income, contact the Social Security Administration every year and get a letter telling you what you're owed. This is true of every government pension system. Do you have a copy of your birth certificate? If not, write to your place of birth and get it. Even if that community has not computerized the records, do it now. Even if it keeps the records in a desktop, do it. If word starts to spread, they may be buried in requests in 1999. You want your paperwork completed before word gets out. Do you have a copies of your educational transcripts? If not, get them. The same goes for your work record history. Assume that your records are in some company's mainframe computer. Assume also that the company has failed to update the software. Do you have a print-out of all of your insurance records? Would they stand up in court? If not, get what you need, now. Have you spoken with your local insurance agent? Is he fully aware of the problem? Ask him straight out if he has scheduled an update of his software if he relies on vendor-supplied software. He deserves to know what is coming. So do you. (If you want to photocopy this issue to send him, go ahead.) Think through this problem in advance, before it gets out and creates a banking panic, all over the world. This story will get out eventually. In 1999, when reporters are running around looking for sensational Year 2000-third millennium stories, this one will at last surface. At that point, every government bureaucrat whose agency is at risk will start playing the "No problem" game. "It's being taken care of." The bureaucrat's number-one rule is to evade responsibility. No one with any authority is going to admit that his malfeasance in office is going to create a disaster on Jan. 1, 2000. The basic response will be this: "There's no problem here, and furthermore, I'm not responsible when everything collapses next year!" A FREE SUBSCRIPTION I publish an e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It covers aspects of the Year 2000 Problem. There is no other Web-based newsletter like it. It comes out at least once a month and sometime more often, if there is something significant happening. I cover what you need to do to get ready for a depression -- or worse. But if you don't visit my Web site regularly, you probably won't believe me. Address: http://www.garynorth.com Please, do not sign up for REALITY CHECK if you aren't really concerned about Y2K. In it, I "preach to the converted." It will only bother you if you have not visited my Web site and read a few dozen of its posts. The newsletter is not designed to persuade; it's designed to motivate people to take action while there's still time. There isn't much time remaining. You can receive it by clicking through: mailto:list-request@metanet.net In the Message Box, write: subscribe remnant-list You don't need to write anything in the smaller Subject Box unless your e-mail software requires this. - 13:16:32 on 25 Sep 98 GMT - 11:57:17 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

BUMP OFF! - 12:12:14 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

BUMP OFF! - 12:12:58 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

BUMP OFF! - 12:13:45 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

BUMP OFF - 12:55:17 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

bump - 12:56:56 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

bump - 12:58:41 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

bump - 13:36:04 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

bump - 13:38:06 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Better garbage... - 15:24:29 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

HAUNTS - 15:25:07 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

There are places I go when I am strong. - 15:25:58 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

One is a marsh pool where I used to go - 15:26:47 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

with a long-ear hound-dog. - 15:27:41 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

One is a wild crabapple tree; I was there - 15:28:40 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

a moonlight night with a girl. - 15:29:28 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

The dog is gone; the girl is gone; I go to these - 15:30:32 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

places when there is no other place to go. - 15:31:23 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

-- CARL SANDBURG - 15:32:06 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:MARLENE-- Pretty entertaining link. I especially enjoyed "planet X," which unfortunately is currently too far away for us to detect "as predicted!" hahaha! - 16:32:40 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:GRANT- I called into the local radio talk show and talked to ole Lloyd. The guy had an answer for everything, not a rational answer mind you, but an answer, lol! - 17:04:35 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Yikes, that crap hasn't been bumped off yet!? - 17:06:15 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

bump - 17:07:35 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:--QUAKE--You are, and you continue to be an asshole - 18:16:30 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:--Quake is to be aggresively ignored - 18:18:45 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:...and aggresively bumped - 18:20:13 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

QUAKE:,,Quake continues to outdo himself in his own mansion os assholedom - 18:22:22 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:..a fuck-mind, a fuck-wit, and an asshole - 18:24:46 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:..a fuck-mind, a fuck-wit, and an asshole - 18:24:55 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:...die, you fuck and take Robert T. Fuckwit Lee with you, fuck-head - 18:26:40 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:...die, you fuck and take Robert T. Fuckwit Lee with you, fuck-head - 18:26:50 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Hello again. Belfast Northern Ireland calling to say hello to athiests and such. A palid youth with bad skin who was wild of eye ran up to me in Shaftsbury Square today and said in a very excited voice: "Did you hear the good news?". I thought there must be some football match or news about peace here. I said: "No". And the acneed youth said as if telling me I had won the lottery: "Jesus died on Calvary for your sins!". I said: "When he sees how many more sins I'm committing now and intend to commit in the future he'll wish he'd picked on somebody else". The crater-faced loony wandered off to find another victim. Peter mentioned Robert T. Fuckwit and I was wondering where he lived? I think I know his brother Angus T. Fuckwits of the Kerry Fuckwits. - 19:46:56 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:MAL-- We have a Fuckwit family just down the street! I think it's like SMITH or JONES; there are Fuckwits all over. - 20:08:16 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MAL- I think maybe he may also be related to the Arseholes of Alabama. Not too many acne faced kids are in the laird here although they use the laird purshers getting -out-of-the-youthcenter free-. Many in this neck of the woods are into Tupac, he's kind of like their god. - 22:58:10 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->sorry guys and gals, but I don't that's Quake. Although he is an idiot, he is a harmless one. Whoever the imposter is, he/she seems to have an axe to grind. Sad. - 23:28:47 on 3 Oct 98 GMT

--LesFuquittes - 4:37:14 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

--Logic is like kryptonite to a christian--( Peter Kruger ) - 4:38:36 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

--Logic is like kryptonite to a christian--( Peter Kruger ) - 4:38:56 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Xuejie - 7:39:45 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) - 8:31:46 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Vacate I want off this ship -- (-) Bouches-Du-Rhone - 9:20:00 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Mal:Marlene ... "Arseholes of Alabama" sounds like a factory. So ... you have imposter trouble here. There surely must be some way to eliminate the sad person. - 20:04:10 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MAL- It is actually. Mass production of christians. I know, this imposter is either a real sweetheart by the name of Grimwood or the druid. Elimination of these types is futile as another one just moves in to take it's place. - 20:12:12 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Mal:Marlene ... perhaps we could all pretend to be the pretender and then he wouldn't know what was happening either. Anyway ... it's sunday night here and I've got my things ready for work tomorrow: cleaned my shoes, new socks, shorts, trousers, polo shirt. Grim beyond all belief. I hope to retire in 2 years and live in squalor and poverty. The squalor and poverty bit isn't a choice more of a recognition that you can't have everything. Have anyone there ever heard of Cliff Richard? He's a British sub-elvis eunech christian. - 21:49:16 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Mal:Marlene ... perhaps we could all pretend to be the pretender and then he wouldn't know what was happening either. Anyway ... it's sunday night here and I've got my things ready for work tomorrow: cleaned my shoes, new socks, shorts, trousers, polo shirt. Grim beyond all belief. I hope to retire in 2 years and live in squalor and poverty. The squalor and poverty bit isn't a choice more of a recognition that you can't have everything. Have anyone there ever heard of Cliff Richard? He's a British sub-elvis eunech christian. - 21:49:36 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Thought: Perhaps Cliff is the pretender. - 21:50:57 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MAL-Yeweeu! Cliff sounds absolutely yicky! As for retirement, I can't do that until my numbers come in, lol! - 21:57:35 on 4 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MAL..I am retired and living in poverty. Not too much to be said for it! - 1:35:00 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 4:50:48 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

In the middle of the road, -- (-) You see the darnest things. Like fat cats driving around in jeeps through the city/ship. - 5:39:38 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

capi-object-property - 6:09:05 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

(-) - 6:09:52 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

PS, the spammers (pl) you refer to are I think one and the same... which brings me to PAM:I realise you present before us here the patchwork thoughts of your world, your battles as you refer to them. And I guess by the references (if sometimes minomially) I feature therein. So my question (call it Narnian curiosity) is how I fare on the field, so to speak? Am I fish or fowl? - 6:23:35 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Nepeta cataria - 6:30:44 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

It isn't Pam. It is someone who bears a grudge towards one of the denizens of what was once a very good discussion page. Be man enough to show yourself you chicken shit. I know who you are asshole. - 6:32:00 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Guess you weren't expecting anyone to pop in on you, did you? - 6:33:56 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Beyond talking with the trees, now babbling with the brooks- PAM What gives? Maybe you could restrict yourself to a couple of manageable posts per day. - 6:35:10 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Why don't you practise what you preach? - 6:35:44 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

You know that most that come here these days are in North America, but you just show your slimy head here when you figure no one else is here. You've been exposed. Would you like me to post your name and e-mail address for everyone, so that they can annoy you in a similar fashion? Oh, I think I still have your home address and telephone number too. Shall I broadcast it? - 6:38:08 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Been talking to Nanette lately? - 6:38:56 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Scared now? Nothing else to say you bloated bastard? - 6:40:56 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Cum saxum saxorum In duersum montum oparum da, In aetibulum In quinatum- DRACONIS:Phobos of theplanetversionof the eye of the dragonelementalfirelongswordofthelargestofthe12goldcoinamericaneagle Xinxiu Bencao/Xuejie LEY/LI/LEI Revues avec comite de lecture Gundestrup cauldronbhfuil - 7:06:29 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Desidach Eich Thank you this monkey of psi* Slan leat - 7:13:40 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Rob (Me? Oww!):Pam: Was that a cat scratch or just a nip? You really shouldn't dwell on such narcissism...you could (start) hallucinating. - 10:59:41 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->ROB..it isn't Pam. Don't pick on him/her/it. - 11:30:40 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:Pretty grim-- What is keeping you from coming out in the open? - 12:24:04 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

HOW DARE YOU BUMP ME OFF.....:QUAKE-CHRISTIAN:HERE IS SOMETHING TO CONSIDER AND COULD THIS BE PREDICTED IN THE BIBLE..WAKE UP OUT THERE IND MAN'S BLUFF IN THE YEAR 2000 Gary North http://www.garynorth.com At the end of this letter, I make you an offer: a free subscription to my e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It shows you what you must do to prepare for a collapse. But I don't recommend that you sign up for it before you have read this report. Otherwise, you won't believe me in REALITY CHECK. When I wrote the earliest version of this report in late 1996, very few people outside of the computer industry knew about the Year 2000 Problem, sometimes called Y2K or the Millennium Bug. I had known about it since 1992, but the realization of what it meant did not hit me for over four years. When it finally hit, my life changed. But not as much as it will change in 2000. So will yours. Word is now getting out about the Millennium Bug's threat to all systems. For example, as 1998 began, the press picked up the story of the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which relies on aging IBM mainframe computers that are not 2000-compliant, and which IBM says cannot be made 2000-compliant. This was the first widely circulated admission that one of the America's critical infrastructures is at risk. The story was confirmed when the British equivalent of the FAA admitted that its computers are equally vulnerable. This means that a drastic cut in airline travel will take place in 2000. Yet this realization has not hit investors in airline stocks. They hear, but they do not connect the story with its inevitable implications. This is true in every area threatened by Y2K. Investors hear, but they do not connect. They will connect in 1999. On February 4, President Clinton signed an executive order on Y2K. It warned that government agencies are now at risk. This executive order set up a commission to discover ways to pressure government agencies to get 2000- compliant. Not one cabinet-level Federal agency is compliant today. In the same week, the U.S. Department of Defense's Acting Secretary for Command, Control, Communications and Intelligence resigned. He was in charge of the Department's y2k repairs. Two other senior staff members also resigned. We are still waiting for any money center bank -- or any other bank -- anywhere in the world to announce that it is 100% Year 2000-compliant. The same is true of every phone company, power generation plant, and major city water utility. Yet the public just sits there, as if nothing were at risk. But everything is at risk. THE BREAKDOWN IN THE DIVISION OF LABOR What are you going to be doing for a living in the year 2001? Unless you're a fix-it man living in a small town, you probably won't be doing what you do today. If you make your living in financial services, you will surely be doing something else. If you're a journalist, you will be in a new profession. But what? What other useful service can you provide? You have very little time to make the switch. Let me show you why. We live in a world that depends on a high division of labor. That world has less than three years to go. In one gigantic collapse, the division of labor will implode. This implosion will begin in 1999. It will accelerate in 2000 and thereafter. Those who work in highly specialized fields will find little or no demand for their skills, in the face of an enormous supply of desperate, low-wage competition. Any job classification that did not exist in 1945 will probably not have a lot of demand in 2001, with one exception: computer software programming. The June 2, 1997, issue of NEWSWEEK ran a front-cover story on the looming computer crisis of the Year 2000 -- called Y2K (Year 2 K -- shorthand for a thousand). In the week it the article appeared (late May), the Dow Jones Industrial Average set a record new high. (It was beaten a week later.) If investors believed the information reported in the Newsweek article, the world's stock markets would have collapsed. But they have risen. Clearly, people don't believe the story. That's why a small handful of people can get out now -- out of the stock market, the bond market, and any city over 25,000. Not everyone can get out at the top of a bull market. This includes the "bull market" known as modern industrial society. Pull the plug on the local power utility for 30 days, and every city on earth becomes unlivable. What if the plug gets pulled for five years? How do you rebuild the shattered economy if the computers go down, taking public utilities with them? Without electricity, you can't run the computers. Without computers, you can't fix computers. How can you assemble teams of programmers to fix the mess? More to the point, how do you pay them if the banks are empty? Chase Manhattan Bank has 200 million lines of code to check and then repair. Citicorp has 400 million lines. All big banks are similarly afflicted. And even if this could be fixed, bank by bank, there is no universal repair standard. Thus, the computers, even if fixed (highly doubtful) will not work together after the individual repairs. A noncompliant bank's data will then make every compliant bank noncompliant. Thus, the world banking system will crash in 2000. When the public figures this out in 1999, the bank runs will begin. Then there are the gigantic Japanese banks, the European banks, and Latin American banks. The managers of these banks are not nearly so far along in awareness as U.S. bankers, yet as of February, 1998, there is not one 2000-compliant money center bank in the United States. Banking is international. It is a system. A breakdown of the computers in thousands of banks will affect all of them. Even if every U.S. bank could achieve 2000-compliance, what good would this do if the other nations' banks don't? But almost nobody discusses this. The United States is dependent on what the computer programmers in all the other countries do. Today, they're doing almost nothing on Y2K. Bank runs are inevitable. The public will eventually figure out what's going to happen. On that day, the runs will begin. The modern world economy will begin to shut down. My conclusion: You probably will not have your present job in 2001. ELECTRICAL POWER: OUR LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEM Take a look at BUSINESS WEEK (March 2, 1998). The headline is mild; the facts in the story are terrifying. The central industry on earth is now at risk: electrical power. The story reported: In particular, electric utilities are only now becoming aware that programmable controllers -- which have replaced mechanical relays in virtually all electricity-generating plants and control rooms -- may behave badly or even freeze up when 2000 arrives. Many utilities are just getting a handle on the problem. "It's probably six months too soon for anyone to try to guess the complete extent of the problem," says Charlie Siebenthal, manager of the Year 2000 program at the Electric Power Research Institute, the industry group that serves as an information clearinghouse. "We don't know" if electricity flow will be affected, he said. Got that? The agency that charges $75,000 to each of its members to be part of a Y2K repair information forum tells us, "we don't know." The agency that represents the most important industry on the face of the earth says, "we don't know." But your friends and relatives do. They say, "We know: no problem." They ignore the facts, such as: Nuclear power plants, of course, pose an especially worrisome problem. While their basic safety systems should continue to work, other important systems could malfunction because of the 2000 bug. In one Year 2000 test, notes Jared S. Wermeil, who is leading the millennium bug effort at the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, the security computer at a nuclear power plant failed by opening vital areas that are normally locked. For that reason, the NRC is in the process of issuing a letter requesting confirmation from utilities that their plants will operate safely come Jan. 1, 2000. Given the complexity and the need to test, "it wouldn't surprise me if certain plants find that they are not Year 2000-ready and have to shut down," says Wermeil. Given the fact that of the 108 nuclear power plants in the U.S., not one is 2000-compliant, I think this is a safe prediction. The experts in this field are supposed to know. Our lives depend on a continuous supply of electrical power to run all of the infrastructures. If this supply line breaks, the entire civilization breaks. If the whole grid goes down, local systems will not be able supply power to systems that are down. Every regional system depends on the others to supply power to reboot it if it goes down. But an overload condition could hit them all. How can they reboot the components of the system if the system itself is down? Or if most of the components are down? How do we recover from Y2K if there is no power? How long will this take? A decade? What happens to the division of labor that makes possible complex power generation systems if they go down? If we can't recover power because the power is off, what happens to 250 million Americans, most of whom live in cities that will not survive if the power goes off? "We don't know." It gets worse. Rick Cowles works as a Y2K advisor for power generating companies -- big ones. Here is his assessment, as of February 27: the industry will not make it. It won't even come close. He writes: "Most electric utilities are still, for the most part, in the awareness/inventory stage of Y2k. Some are actually still fighting about 'how to conduct inventory'. There is very little upper management appreciation of the depth of the Y2k issue." My comment: according to the California White Paper (the state of California's official guideline), awareness counts for 1% of a repair project; inventory is 1%. When you've completed the inventory, you have 98% of the project ahead of you. Cowles' sample of America's power companies indicates that most of them have not completed their inventory. He goes on: Not one electric company has started a serious remediation effort on its embedded controls. Not one. Yes, there's been some testing going on, and a few pilot projects here and there, but for the most part it is still business-as-usual, as if there were 97 months to go, not 97 weeks. Almost all electric utility projects are severely understaffed. I was at an independent generating company this week, which is responsible for production of nearly 3000 megawatts between just two large generating plants. This company still doesn't have a single full-time person dedicated to Y2k, and this includes the project manager. This is a . . . $5 billion operation, and their management has committed only a few hundred thousand dollars of 'seed money' to the project. I sincerely feel sympathy for the Y2k project manager. My conclusion is simple: It is time for you to begin taking Y2K seriously -- a lot more seriously than the public does. The public's apathy is the only thing that allows you a little more time to get prepared. "IT JUST CAN'T BE TRUE!" You don't believe me, of course. Not yet. But I have published the evidence on my Web site. You can verify what I'm saying. But you still won't believe it. Why not? Because it's too painful. In their book, THE SOVEREIGN INDIVIDUAL, Davidson and Rees-Mogg make a very important observation: A recent psychological study disguised as a public opinion poll showed that members of individual occupational groups were almost uniformly unwilling to accept any conclusion that implied a loss of income for them, no matter how airtight the logic supporting it. Given increased specialization, most of the interpretive information about most specialized occupational groups is designed to cater to the interests of the groups themselves. They have little interest in views that might be impolite, unprofitable, or politically incorrect (p. 339). My views are all three: impolite, unprofitable, and politically incorrect. Impolite, because I am saying this: (1) those advising you are as blind as an eighth-century Israelite king; (2) they have given you information that will prove to be wildly unprofitable; (3) all the hype about your getting rich -- the world's getting rich -- is a clap-trap. We are heading for a disaster greater than anything the world has experienced since the bubonic plague of the mid-14th century. Because the year 2000 begins on a Saturday, millions of victims will not be aware of their dilemma until the following Monday or Tuesday. They will pay no attention to advance warnings, such as this one, that they are at risk. As you read this report, I want you to think to yourself: "How will this affect me? Is my business at risk? Is my income at risk? What should I do?" I also want you to visit my Web site, http://www.garynorth.com and examine the accumulating evidence, week by week. THE ORIGIN OF THE PROBLEM Here is the problem. Over four decades ago, computer programmers who wrote mainframe computer software in a way that saved punch card space -- two digits out of 80 -- by designating year codes as two-digit entries: 67 instead of 1967, 78 instead of 1978, etc. Back then, saving this seemingly minuscule amount of space seemed like an economically wise decision. This may prove to be the most expensive forecasting error since Noah's flood. What the programmers ignored is this: in the year 2000, the two digits will be 00. The computer will sit there, looking for a year. At midnight, January 1, 2000, every mainframe computer using unrevised software dies or else gets unreliable -- very, very sick. Programmers who recognized the implications of this change did not care or could not persuade their employers. They assumed that their software would be updated by year 2000. That assumption now threatens every piece of custom software sitting on every mainframe computer, unless the owner of the computer has had the code rewritten. In some cases, this involves coordinating two billion lines of code. (Example: General Motors) One error on one line can shut down the whole system, the way that America Online was shut down for a day in 1996 because of a one-digit error. The handful of reporters who have investigated this problem have met a wall of indifference. "We're all using microcomputers now." "This is a problem only for a few companies that are still using mainframes." "Cheap solutions will appear as soon as there is demand." "The software will be updated soon, and I'll buy it then." LARGE ORGANIZATIONS RELY ON BAD LEGACY CODE On September 24, 1996, Congressman Stephen Horn, who is Chairman of the Subcommittee on Government Management, Information, and Technology, submitted to the full committee a report on the Year 2000 problem. The Subcommittee held hearings on April 16. He said that these hearings revealed "a serious lack of awareness of the problem on the part of a great number of people in business and government. Even more alarming was the cost estimate reported to the Subcommittee to remedy the problem, which was said to be $30 billion for the Federal Government alone." Then he announced: Without greater urgency, those agencies risk being unable to provide services or perform functions that they are charged by law with performing. Senior agency management officials must take aggressive action if these problems are to be avoided. Yet despite Horn's 1996 warning, nothing much has happened since then, as he continues to remind us in public hearing after hearing. In late 1997, he gave near-failing grades to the Department of Defense and the Department of Transportation. Also to the Treasury Department, which is where investors have put seven trillion dollars, not counting Social Security. These agencies must shift hundreds of millions of dollars from their existing budgets to hire outside programmers to rewrite the code that runs these agencies. This isn't being done. More to the point, the longer they delay, the worse the problem gets. You can't just go out and hire programmers who are familiar with the code. As businesses find out what threatens them, the demand for these highly specialized services will soar. (If businessmen don't figure this out in time, payment will come due in January of 2000.) The Subcommittee's 1996 report warned: "This issue may cause banks, securities firms and insurance companies to ascertain whether the companies they finance or insure are year 2000 compliant before making investment decisions." It also said that companies will start demanding contractual warranties guaranteeing against Year 2000 breakdowns. In 1999, there will be international bank run, when depositors demand cash. But there is very little cash available. This will threaten banks with bankruptcy (bank + rupture = bankruptcy). Withdrawals will then be prohibited by the government. Bureaucrats will ration your own money back to you. If electricity goes off completely for as short a period as a month, cities will become unhabitable. The Subcommittee's 1986 report warned: The clock is ticking and most Federal agencies have not inventoried their major systems in order to detect where the problem lies within and among each Federal department, field office and division. The date for completion of this project cannot slip. By "cannot," the Subcommittee's report-writer meant "must not." The date can surely be allowed to slip. It almost certainly will be allowed to slip. Additionally, the task may be more difficult for the public sector, where systems have been in use for decades, may lack software documentation and therefore increase the time it takes from the inventory phase to solution. Did you get that? The software code's records are gone! Remember also that we're not just talking about the United States government. We're talking about every government -- national, state, and local -- anywhere on earth that has its data stored on an unrevised mainframe computer system or which relies on any third-party computer service that uses uncorrected software. Congressman Horn released a report on December 11, 1997. He warned: "Another year has passed and the latest data show that the current work on the year 2000 problems in Federal computers is unacceptable and potentially disastrous." That same day, he wrote a letter to the Director of the Office of Management and Budget. He said (underlined): "Unfortunately, at the current rate of progress, most Federal systems will not be able to handle the date change by January 1, 2000." KISS MEDICARE GOODBYE Some 38 million people will receive Medicare payments in 1997. In 2000, an estimated one billion claims will be filed, totalling over $288 billion. This, according to a May 16, 1997 report of the General Accounting Office (GAO): "Medicare Transaction System." Problem: the Medicare system won't make it through 2000. The same GAO report shows why. Medicare claims are not actually administered by Medicare. It's administered by 70 private agencies. These agencies have been informed that their contracts will not be renewed in 2000. The agency that officially supervises Medicare has plans for one huge computer system that will bring the program in-house. It is the same dream that motivated the Internal Revenue Service for the past 11 years. The IRS announced earlier this year that after 11 years and $4 billion, the attempt had failed. Medicare now knows that it has a problem with its computers. They are not Year 2000-compliant. So, to make sure that they will be compliant, Medicare has issued an appeal to the 70 newly canned companies: please fix the year 2000 problem for us before you leave. As the GAO report puts it, "contractors may not have a particularly high incentive to properly make these conversions. . . ." What if the system fails? (What if? Are they kidding? When!) The report says that the Health Care Financing Administration (HCFA), which is responsible for running Medicare, has not made contingency plans. "HCFA officials are relying on the contractors to identify and complete the necessary work in time to avoid problems. Yet the . . . . contractors not only have not developed contingency plans, they have said that they do not intend to do so because they believe that this is HCFA's responsibility." In the fall of 1997, President Clinton killed the entire Medicare Transition project. It had failed. But the Millennium Bug is still present, waiting patiently to shut down the entire Medicare system. The public is not aware of any of this, even though it's in the public record. Psychological denial is universal. KISS THE IRS GOODBYE The Internal Revenue System has 100 million lines of code. (Well, other reports say 70 million, 60 million, or whatever -- they really don't know.) Their code is not year 2000-compliant. After the failure of the 11-year project to upgrade the system, Chief Information Officer Arthur Gross announced that getting the IRS year 2000-compliant is the "highest priority for the IRS." In April of 1998, he left the IRS. But what he had revealed is startling. The IRS has nearly 50,000 code applications to coordinate and correct. This task will require the IRS to move 300 full-time computer programmers to the new project. For comparison purposes, consider the fact that the Social Security Administration began working on its year 2000 repair in 1991. Social Security has 30 million lines of code. By June, 1996, the SSA's 400 programmers had fixed 6 million lines. (A year later, they claimed they had corrected 18 million lines. But then the word got out: they had discovered another 33 million lines administered by 50 states -- all of which ties into the SSA system. The SSA now says that this new code -- noncompliant -- is not "mission-critical." They are simply defining the problem out of bureaucratic existence. But they can't define the Bug out of electronic existence.) What if the IRS isn't technically equipped to pursue tax evaders after December 31, 1999? What if the IRS computer system isn't fully integrated with all of its branch offices? What if the system's massive quantities of forms are not stored in a computer system that is Year 2000-compliant? More to the point, what if 20% of America's taxpayers believe that the IRS can't get them if they fail to file a return? In 1999, the IRS may find a drop in compliance from self-employed people. If the IRS can't prosecute these people after 1999, there will be a defection of compliance by the self-employed. When word spreads to the general public, there will be a hue and cry -- maybe at first against the evaders, but then against employers who are sending in employees' money when self-employed people are escaping. Meanwhile, cash-only, self-employed businesses will begin to lure business away from tax-compliant businesses by offering big discounts. This will start happening all over the world. Once it begins, it will not easily be reversed. The tax system rests on this faith: (1) the government will pay us what it owes us; (2) the government can get us if we stop paying. Both aspects of this faith will be called into question in the year 2000 if the governments' computers are not in compliance. Big Brother is no more powerful than his software. On January 1, 2000, this strength may fall to zero. Actually, double zero. If the IRS cannot collect taxes, and if all the other mainframe computer-dependent tax collection agencies on earth do not fix this, what will happen to the government debt markets worldwide? To interest rates? To the government-guaranteed mortgage market? Kiss them all goodbye. "NO PROBLEM! TRUST ME!" When I wrote the first version of this report in 1996, there are a handful of conservative financial newsletter writers who had heard about Y2K. They all denied its economic relevance. They all know about it today, but virtually none of them warns his subscribers. To do so would be a belated admission that "North was right," and there is no way to protect yourself except by survivalist techniques, which most of them except Don McAlvany and Larry Abraham have long since dismissed as silly. To admit that I'm right would involve eating gigantic quantities of crow in full public view. It isn't going to happen. Besides, a shut-down of all mainframe computers would mean that newsletter writers will be out of business after 1999 -- a thought too terrifying for them. So, they still brush Y2K aside with some version of this rebuttal: "Of course, the government may not get its computers fixed." This is supposed to calm you. It should terrify you. Ask yourself: What happens to T-bills and T-bonds if the IRS computer breaks down and a tax revolt spreads because taxpayers know the IRS will never find them, and that if they pay their taxes, they won't get their refunds? What happens to money market funds and bond funds that invest heavily in government debt when investors realize that if the IRS can't collect taxes, the government will default on its debt? What happens to the banks when depositors figure out that the FDIC is bankrupt and that nobody insures their accounts any more? What happens to your job when the banks close because of bank runs, and no business can borrow money or even write a check to its employees? What happens to the delivery of food into cities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to the delivery of public utilities when money fails because the banks are busted? What happens to your retirement fund when ERISA, the government pension guarantee program, goes bankrupt? What happens to the 38 million people in the U.S. who are dependent on Medicare? What happens to 42 million people on Social Security? What happens to every state government? What happens to crime rates when the state cannot imprison violent criminals and may have to release those who are locked up because they can't be fed? What happens to the world economy when this scenario is multiplied across every government? Kiss you job goodbye. Especially if you're a journalist. I know. I am one. I figure I'll be out of work -- forced retirement -- January 1, 2000. I'm making plans to be in small-scale agriculture. I'm out of debt. What about you? PSYCHOLOGICAL DEFERRAL Those in authority prefer to defer thinking about this. They are playing Scarlett O'Hara: "I'll think about it tomorrow," followed by, "Well, fiddle dee-dee." Deferral is a normal response to distant problems. The question is: What can we afford to defer? People defer making this assessment. The fact that you have not read much about this looming problem doesn't mean that it isn't a problem. If your employer has not actively sought solutions to this problem, your firm had better not use mainframe computers or be dependent on suppliers that rely on mainframe computers. Everyone assumes that someone else is doing something to solve these problems. "It's being taken care of." The problem here is the passive voice. Who, exactly, is taking care of it? What, exactly, is this person doing? Is he on schedule? How do you know for sure? Are you taking his word for it? Anyone who takes the word of a computer programmer that he is on schedule is a person of very great faith. If the programmer says "Sorry, I didn't make it" on December 31, 1999, you're dead in the water. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO, BEGINNING TODAY First, you investigate whether what I'm saying is true. Second, think through what happens to you if the local power company and the local water and sewage company shut down in your city for six months. "Who ya gonna call?" Especially if your phone is dead? And if you do get through, how ya gonna pay if your local bank is defunct? Third, here is my personal strategy. I have adopted a question: "Can I prove on paper that he owes it to me?" I want hard copy print-outs of everything I do with the government. If you are owed money from Social Security, and you're dependent on this income, contact the Social Security Administration every year and get a letter telling you what you're owed. This is true of every government pension system. Do you have a copy of your birth certificate? If not, write to your place of birth and get it. Even if that community has not computerized the records, do it now. Even if it keeps the records in a desktop, do it. If word starts to spread, they may be buried in requests in 1999. You want your paperwork completed before word gets out. Do you have a copies of your educational transcripts? If not, get them. The same goes for your work record history. Assume that your records are in some company's mainframe computer. Assume also that the company has failed to update the software. Do you have a print-out of all of your insurance records? Would they stand up in court? If not, get what you need, now. Have you spoken with your local insurance agent? Is he fully aware of the problem? Ask him straight out if he has scheduled an update of his software if he relies on vendor-supplied software. He deserves to know what is coming. So do you. (If you want to photocopy this issue to send him, go ahead.) Think through this problem in advance, before it gets out and creates a banking panic, all over the world. This story will get out eventually. In 1999, when reporters are running around looking for sensational Year 2000-third millennium stories, this one will at last surface. At that point, every government bureaucrat whose agency is at risk will start playing the "No problem" game. "It's being taken care of." The bureaucrat's number-one rule is to evade responsibility. No one with any authority is going to admit that his malfeasance in office is going to create a disaster on Jan. 1, 2000. The basic response will be this: "There's no problem here, and furthermore, I'm not responsible when everything collapses next year!" A FREE SUBSCRIPTION I publish an e-mail newsletter, GARY NORTH'S REALITY CHECK. It covers aspects of the Year 2000 Problem. There is no other Web-based newsletter like it. It comes out at least once a month and sometime more often, if there is something significant happening. I cover what you need to do to get ready for a depression -- or worse. But if you don't visit my Web site regularly, you probably won't believe me. Address: http://www.garynorth.com Please, do not sign up for REALITY CHECK if you aren't really concerned about Y2K. In it, I "preach to the converted." It will only bother you if you have not visited my Web site and read a few dozen of its posts. The newsletter is not designed to persuade; it's designed to motivate people to take action while there's still time. There isn't much time remaining. You can receive it by clicking through: mailto:list-request@metanet.net In the Message Box, write: subscribe remnant-list You don't need to write anything in the smaller Subject Box unless your e-mail software requires this. - 13:16:32 on 25 Sep 98 GMT - 11:57:17 on 3 Oct 98 GMT - 12:34:34 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Rob (Can't see the wood for the sleaze):JOETTE: Oh great! So now we get some competition between brain-driftwood and brain-deadwood... - 13:01:40 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:OPEN: Greetings again, been out w/some knock down back prob's. Chucklin'now, trapped on the floor in utter pain, the thought occured to me, is this one of those religious experiences? In a moment of reflection o'er the past weekend, those pain ridden times made me think about the absolute static nature o'that pain and how there was concern for nothing else except it, hey! At about this time, or such times, the religious adherents say only the godthing can help, knows, and best o'all it understands you. Well, w/all the cursin'and cussin' I did, I'm sure I didn't earn any merit points. - 14:56:22 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->CARL..so glad to have you back (no pun intended!)! You were missed. - 15:38:26 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->CARL..so glad to have you back (no pun intended!)! You were missed. - 15:38:45 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:JOETTE: It were no vacation, say what do you northerners gotta say 'bout the bloodgate matter? - 15:50:05 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) Sunday Silence - 17:00:09 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Here's an Addam's family trivia question: was the hairy cousin's name "ITT" or "IT". The reason I ask is that I'd always assumed it was ITT, but in the two recent movies, he/she/it is spelled "IT". Anybody know the official Chas. Addams New Yorker spelling? (BTW, I'm just curious...that's all!) - 17:11:58 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:CANADIANS: According to a report of WJC when he was AK-gov.he and an aquaintence[now dead] allowed some bad blood to go to canada. They got the blood from inmates in the AK prison system. It seems some canadian group or person finds their unders are crimped, ergo, its the Canadian bloodgate connection. - 17:54:39 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

that gold burns slow like coal camper's candles all lost in the snow - 18:12:58 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- Are you speaking of the tainted blood in the Canadian Red Cross blood supply? A new orgainization has now been formed to look after Canada's blood supply. Are you saying that BC knowing let tainted blood into Canada? - 19:55:11 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: Yes, now maybe I jumped the gun but I don't think so. Check here and see what you get. - 20:15:26 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

Joette..pulling out her soapbox:-->CARL/MARLENE...being the political and radical animal that I am, I will offer my humble opinion on this, although it isn't really humble as I spent days watching the Krever Inquiry. Yes, the Canadian Red Cross knowingly supplied tainted to blood to Canadians. Actually, they used the tainted blood to form the plasma required for hemophiliacs. They thought this process would destroy any virus or contamination contained therein. That is why there is still questions before the courts as to whether criminal charges should be laid against the Red Cross, and the Department of Health and Welfare federally, and the respective provincial Ministries of Health. That is why a new blood agency has been formed (although it's just the Red Cross in disguise). The reason I became so interested in this matter is that I am associated with a hemophiliac who is now dying a slow and torturous death as a result of the tainted plasma. - 23:11:59 on 5 Oct 98 GMT

DGreat:JOETTE: I remember you inquiring about a book a while backs (The American Psychopath?). I got curious and I asked quite few credible and trusted sources and no one seems to have even heard about it, and it could not be found in any book store database. You do not happened to know who wrote it, or the year it was published etc… - 0:54:13 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->DGREAT..thanks for thinking of me! The name of the book is actually "American Psycho" and another denizen of this page has been kind enough to source a copy for me. But it's nice that we actually look out for each other. Thanks! - 1:18:53 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Xipper:<a href='http://man-made.net/redirect.php?url=members.tripod.com%2F%7Ekenzieblue+SHOW+ME+HOW%26lt%2Fa%3E+%26ltp%26gtmembers.tripod.com%2F%7Ekenziblue+-+%3Ci%3E1%3A32%3A27+on+6+Oct+98+GMT%3C%2Fi%3E%3Cp%3E%0A%3Cb%3EPapaSam%3C%2Fb%3E%3AQUAKE.+How+sad+it+is+to+be+so+lacking+in+self+esteem+that+you+must+create+a+web+site+of+your+own+to+try+to+attract+some+attention.+Failing+to+get+an+audience+on+your+site%2C+despite+your+free+advertising+here%2C+you+resort+to+spamming+us.+You+are+a+poor+sick+bastard.++-+%3Ci%3E2%3A20%3A24+on+6+Oct+98+GMT%3C%2Fi%3E%3Cp%3E%0A%3Cb%3EMarlene+MD%3C%2Fb%3E%3APAPASAM%21+There+your+are%21+I+was+hoping+you+hadn't abandoned us! Yes, I agree. If the ass doesn't have a big enough stage already. But then again, I think all xtians are sick to some degree. - 3:13:40 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene..:CARL- I just finished reading the Kennedy article on the tainted blood thing. Maybe Foster was worried about a scandal and found himself unable to see himself getting through such an ordeal. I would imagine one has to have fairly thick skin to go through something like Clinton is now, as well as an attitude of "I couldn't give a shit". Most of us would not likely breeze through such an ordeal without some pretty nasty battle scars. As for Kennedy, I really don't care for journalists that can't or won't research in order to write their story. Tainted blood carries the HIV virus, not AIDS. I'm a donor myself and you wouldn't believe the stuff I have to fill out each time I donate, the questions I'm asked and I'm also asked to show my arms and legs for trac marks. This is done for every donor. If I didn't know how much my blood was needed I wouldn't go through the humiliation of giving these days. I'm going to read the other articles on Bloodgate right after this. - 3:30:21 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I've noticed also that these "Quake" postings are done at times that Quake is likely dreaming of his jesus zapping all we atheists to hell. You'd think if someone were to pretend they were someone else that they wouldn't stoop to the likes of Quake. - 3:34:24 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Where did our Mal go? - 3:36:51 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

PETER:..a fuck-mind, a fuck-wit, and an asshole - 18:24:46 on 3 Oct 98 GMT PETER:..a fuck-mind, a fuck-wit, and an asshole - 18:24:55 on 3 Oct 98 GMT PETER:...die, you fuck and take Robert T. Fuckwit Lee with you, fuck-head - 18:26:40 on 3 Oct 98 GMT PETER:...die, you fuck and take Robert T. Fuckwit Lee with you, fuck-head - 18:26:50 on 3 Oct 98 GMT - 13:47:02 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:I"m back to my "heavy reading" so back in _Climbing Mount Improbabable_ by Richard Dawkins. I will post a bit later the argument to counter the creationist claim that species cannot become other species. - 14:01:37 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:"There is a supremely banal reason why transitional forms are generally lacking at the species level. I can explain best with an anology. Children turn gradually and continuously into adults but, for legal purposes, the age of majority is taken to be a particular birthday, often the eighteenth. It would therefore be possible to say, "There are 55 million people in Britain but not a single one of them is intermediate between non-voter and voter." Just as for legal purposes a juvenile changes into a voter as midnight strikes on the eighteenth birthday, so zoologists always insist on classifying a specimen as in one species or another. If a specimen is intermediate in actual form (as many are), zoologists' legalistic conventions still force them to jump one way or the other when naming it. Therefore the creationists' claim that there are no intermediates has to be true "by definition" at the species level, but has no implications about the real world-only implications about zoologists' naming conventions" Richard Dawkins - 15:12:49 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: R.Dawkins seems to me that he sees the kinship of things and the world and tells of that view in a way similar to that of one wiping off a fogged mirror in order to better see oneself. I think he is good reading for the thinking. - 15:59:41 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- I agree. Have you read this book? - 16:16:12 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) slug - 17:19:49 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:I mentioned a few posts ago that every xtian is a little sick but some are a whole lot sick. Has anyone heard about the couple who's child is in a Montana hospital because they believed the child was the christ-child and feed it only lettuce and watermelon to keep it pure? Two very sick people, killing a child, their own child, because of the godthing. NUTS! - 17:23:14 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: No I haven't, at the present time I am still hooked on Whitehead. Somehow, I've since lost track o'why, I saw some metaphysical type tracks that took me to A.N.Whitehead's point of view. I've read a few others and generally ended up still in square one. For several weeks now I didn't get a chance to read what ANW might can say, but as for Dawkins, it seems to me, he says of things that lead or can lead one to account for things without whatever a metaphysical account is supposed to elevate one to. I admitt I'm easily confused, so's I figger I better keep readin'words of the reasonably intelligent. So while I haven't read that book, you can know I will. - 17:32:26 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: There is also the bunch mentioned here a few days past that let another child die or its about to die, due to the religious "convictions" of the parents. "convictions" this reference ought to changed to insanity- when ignorance is relevant, or irresponsibility- when stupidity is relevant. Then a mental cure for religion could be started. - 17:48:29 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :JOETTE<<>> do you have Ron's email address. Ifin ya do, could you shoot him an email and ask him to please block the infamous spammers ip address, so we can get the chat zone that we have become comfortable with back to normal. I care not that someone comes and gives us debate, for one side or the other, but mindless, sensless spam is not necessary and a waste of everyones time. MARLENE<<>> did you happen to pick up "Raptor"? - 18:35:12 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Axiomancy*** The slug handgun is not exclusively an instrument of death. Through its use the hand can be merged with the eye. *** Alphitomancy - 18:40:05 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

BUMPOLOGY strictly a modern term, a popular nickname for PHRENOLOGY. Thank you EllA headless and all. - 18:41:48 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Joette.. :-->STEVEN...I e-mailed Ron awhile back and got no response. I wish he could come and see what is happening here. I miss him a lot. I thought James was taking over though (anybody ever hear from him?). - 18:59:50 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

FACH AP HOZBECK:This. Is. Necessary. This. Is. Necessary. Life. Feeds on life. Feeds on life. Feeds on life. Feeds on This. Is. Necessary. (etc. until 69 06.05) (grasshopper h2o sounds until 69 13.51, then:) As binding in the URL rehash, "So Mote it be"--(-)Thank you - 19:52:19 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 19:59:59 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

Amazing Spiderman #14 (vg) First appearance of the Green Goblin! The book is slightly "bumpy". Seems that at one time it was exposed to moisture..... $250 :I wish to speak to you now. Where is the Eye of the Serpent/Dragon? Rexor said that you gave it to a girl, probably for a mere night's pleasure. Such a loss. People have no grasp of what they do. Capi ta superba quantientes. The soil flavors in the Full Dying Grass Moon. It takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent fritters. The Watcher in the Woods. - 20:39:21 on 6 Oct 98 GMT

'anguinum'*** Chlach Nathrach *** a(ll) B(ea)d - 4:01:07 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

'anguinum'*** Chlach Nathrach *** a(ll) B(ea)d - 4:01:21 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

and more bright blessings to you Pam - 4:02:05 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

verify the ips name in the public name and address book wil boyco(tt) and block in redundant url rehash *** thank you:Big city noise disappears. Sucker punch is in your heart. Light is reason, light is due. My shape is shapeless in your suit. Chrome red eyeballs reflect and roll. Simple sun is slowly sinking. Roman shoes and pretty hats. Glitter bombs that beat the beat. You comb the night 'cause you're a cruiser. And you never get enough. When you're cruising down the street. And you're chasing off the heat. When you're on the moonlight run. Foating jets and big vignettes. Get the treatment, grab a cab. Set aside the screaming fish. Tell the world why you're so glad. Flip the switches, pull the plug. You always wait for better news. You need a hit, you need a -- (-)slug. You don't easily get amused - 4:07:56 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

wil and will --(-) Asio otus - 4:10:22 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Bounce, a s(k)ip, and ??? Tiggers do best - 4:19:15 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:So tell me PHREN, how do you know when you are finished? - 4:29:47 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:GRANT- How does he know when he starts, lol! - 4:37:09 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:STEVEN- No I haven't yet but I plan to next payday. There's so much to buy at this time of year, it's hard to find that few dollars. I for one wasn't in favor of having a censor on this board but I'm now beginning to think it would be one hell of a good idea. I'm sure Ron would have no problem finding out the IP for the spammer. I have his address also, I'll give him a shout. - 4:40:57 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:Hey MARLENE-- So what do you think of the Clinton thing now? Should we start over and go communist? - 4:42:12 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- If we don't have any success on finding Ron, I think Bill has James's address. - 4:46:18 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:GRANT- An American friend of mine figures this Clinton thing is just payback the Reps. are doing because of the Nixon thing. Communist, yikes no! You wouldn't want to live in Canada, now would you?, lol - 4:49:26 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Well, goodnight atheists. - 4:51:11 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

S(k)ippy S(k)ip:Yesss Ron it would be one hell of an good idea/logo. - 5:01:00 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

(k) (k) (k) - 5:02:17 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

good-bye will PHRENS - 5:03:30 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:Email me PHREN. Take a chance... Tell me your innermost secret desires- $2.99/min. polokov@hotmail.com - 5:25:03 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Pam -> to Grant:This dreamer is almost awake your whisper (will) go through when he regains conscience. How is the "The Honourable Mr. Tawnish" coming along??? How is your back also??? Glosso - 5:33:39 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:wil and will good-bye EllA - 5:34:58 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 5:40:44 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Taarna - 13:06:16 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- Whitehead..isn't he the guy who was on 60Minutes last Sunday. He pretends to be midle-of-the-road but is actually on the extreme right? He is associated with Fawell(sp) and sends his daughter to Fawell's school. I may have gotten him mixed up with someone else but the name seems to ring a bell. - 13:35:16 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

PASSING THROUGH-God Is A Killer............:http://members.aye.net/~abrupt/house/godkill.html - 13:53:43 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

IOUN stones - 14:24:40 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

ban feinnidi - 14:25:26 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: Alfred North Whitehead died 1947 was a british mathematician philosopher, wrote many books but probably most readily known as coauthor of "Mathematica Principia" with B.Russell. I find his writing style very easy to follow and understand, i.e., I find his words enlightening. - 15:59:28 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- Oops! Wrong guy I guess. Did you watch 60Minutes on Sunday? If so what was that guys name? - 17:48:10 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

*** Lul de Faltenin---Guillaume Appollinaire*** Sirenes j'al rampe vers vos Grottes tiriez aux mers la langue En dansant devant leurs chevaux Puis battiez des vos ailes d'anges Et j'ecountais ces choeurs rivaux Une arme o ma tete inquiete J'agite un feuillard defleuri Pour ecarter l'haleine tiede Qu'exhalent contre mes grands cris Vos terribles bouches muettes Il y a la-bas la merveille Au prix d'elle que valez-vous Le sang jaillit de mes otelles A mon aspect et je l'avoue Le meurtre de mon double orgueil Si les bateliers ont rame Loin des levres a fleur de l'onde Mille et mille animaux charmes Flairent la route a' la recontre De mes blessures bien-aimees Leurs yeux etoiles bestiales Eclairent ma compassion Qu'importe ma sagesse egale Celle des constellations Car c'est moi seul nuit qui t'etoile Sirenes enfin je descends Dans une grotte avide J'aime Vox yeux Les degres sont glissants - 22:04:09 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

The Mystery of the --(-) Turtle Lake Monster - 22:20:50 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Wehokdropping - 22:22:27 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: I missed it this week. Did you see last weeks that concerned David Cash? This is the fella whose phren killed that lil girl. He clearly needs a public relations guide in order to make his existence a little less tumulteous. - 22:36:32 on 7 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- Yes I did see it. As I mentioned before, it's best Mr.Cash refrain from speaking as the more he says, the more one dislikes him. - 1:46:57 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Our Turkey Day is this Monday coinciding with the xtian Thanksgiving Day. I'm busy doing the ususal, perogies, holopchi, pumpkin pie, turkey etc. and will appreciate the sense my parents had to settle in a relatively free country so that I could obtain the foods stuff to make the dinner. That said, I just heard on the news that Canada has put a publication ban on those magazines published in Canada that contain little Canadian content. I also read in our community paper an article from a lady who's child is attending the English school in a town close to here called Ste. Anne. My one child also attended this school. The school is a long building divided into three sections. One for the English, one for French Immersion and one for French. The school yard is also divided into these sections. While outside playing, children from the bordering French Imersion playground are not allowed to communicate with the English children and vice versa. To do so could end in suspension from school. But..the children from the French play area and French Imersion play area are allowed to speak. This is to "protect" the French culture. Sounds pretty archaic, non? - 14:01:30 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: That so called school, what the fuck are the people there after? Storys as that I take as examples of why those as JOETTE choose to or want to walk the earth, the walk I guess is to find out what is to be learned; what is knowledge; what is wisdom? what or why am I? Once, when I utilised day care services, we had the tots in a place run by some xtian group. They were nice folks, then somehow, its control got into the hands of some asian folk, with teethy smiles thru which chucked out broken english, they told all black, spanish and an assortment of others to take their children elsewhere. Later, I'd gone elsewhere, upon passing by I asked one parent I recognised how it- the day care, was? He said he hadn't seen a non-white/asian child there since the prior group ran it. What does this mean? - 15:00:27 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:JOETTE: is this some sort of inkling? *The secret service noticed that while someone had relieved themselves outside the Whitehouse, in the snow, they'd spelled out -Bill is a wuss- They told the prezident. WJC ordered the FBI, the CIA and the Secret Service to look into it. After millions of dollars and weeks of investigation, the Secret Service brought the findings to the Oval Office. -Well, what did you find?" asked WJC. "Sorry, Mr. President, the urine was tested and found to belong to VP Al Gore." said the agent. "Well, I'm not surprised." WJC softly drawled. "I'm afraid it gets worse, sir," the agent apologised. "According to the graphology analysis, it was Hillary's handwriting." - 15:47:03 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->CARL..great joke! - 15:53:08 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Joette (aka Don Quixote):-->MARLENE..your Ste. Anne story has raised the political hairs on the back of my neck. Do they think they are in fucking Quebec or something. Ooohhh I'm pissed off. Can you get me the name of your MPP and MP? Time to right the wrongs of Manitoba!!!!! - 15:55:09 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 16:57:52 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Begriffe konnen einen Unfug erleichtern oder erschweren; begunstigen oder hemmen. - 17:09:35 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) cait shith - 17:10:40 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

I(tt)--- Pennywise , the clown, ZAMTHETUS - 17:22:29 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Hedera helix - 17:23:28 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

boyco(tt) - 17:24:14 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- The local MP will only say that it's a provincial matter. I just finished speaking with the MLA and he is sizing it down to the school board. Our school divison here is Seine River. The MLA I talked to gave me the ole song and dance about when our children are older and have children to enroll themselves that this whole thing will die. Well, it's been 15 years of it so far and it hasn't died, in fact, it seems to be doing just fine. The name of the MP here is David Iftody who IMO won't touch it as he is Liberal and most of the francophones vote Liberal. Since the Conservatives are in power here, the Liberals need the support desperately. IMO, it teaches our kids to classify groups of people. I think it's terrible! I still can't send to golden, have you heard why? - 17:47:34 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

toradh - 18:26:24 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

yesss the matter ssso Glosso preciousss - 18:35:08 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

WYSIWYG,,, "k","k", "k",,, thank you - 18:37:33 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:HUMOR?: A traveling salesman, completing a trip earlier thn anticipated, sent his wife a telegram: "Returning home Friday." Arriving home, he found his wife in bed with another man. Being a person of non-violence he complained to his father-in-law, who said, "I'm sure there must be an explanation." The next day the father-in-law was all smiles. "I knew there was an explanation. She didn't get your telegram." - 22:03:14 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- Ha! Ha! That was a good one! Now on this school issue you asked about. It's the franophones (french culture fanatics) that push this rule. - 22:15:13 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: For it to have that sort of what appears or sounds like "special protection" that particular interest must be pretty weak. Kinda like some religions, I dare say. They got no substance of any meaningfulness? - 22:21:57 on 8 Oct 98 GMT

If substitutional quantification is not to resolve to mere finite conjunction without quantifiers, the supply of substitutible terms must be infinite or indefinite. Singular desriptions, moreover, are not point; they are contextually definable as usual, and the definition uses quantification. They should be supposed eliminated by contextual definition at the start. But there will be, we may suppose, an infinite stock of constant terms, built from a finite lot of simple terms by iteration of a finite lot of grammatical constructions. The atomic sentences will consist each of a primitive predicate followed by one or more of these perhaps quite long terms as arguments. The sentences are atomic in the sense of containing no further sentences; they may contain complex terms. - 6:21:12 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

There lived in the East Sea a Dragon with his wife Mrs Dragon who was not in good health. Seeing his wife's health was deteriorating the Dragon said to his wife, "Honey, you look pale and anemic and you should eat something which is good for your health. What do you want to eat and I'll get it for you?" Mrs Dragon replied, "The thing that I want to eat you will never obtain it. Why bother?" The husband insisted that she should tell him the food that she desired. Mrs Dragon said, "Well, if you insist. I want to eat the monkey's heart." The Dragon exclaimed, "My dear! Monkeys live in the mountain forests. How am I going to get one of their hearts?" Mrs Dragon said, "Well, in that case don't bother. Anyway, I am going to die soon." Soon after, the Dragon went ashore. There was a forest not far from the seashore and there were many nut trees there. He saw a monkey on a tree top eating nuts. The dragon said to the monkey, "Hello, you up there Mr monkey. Aren't you afraid of falling down?" The monkey replied, "Hi, Mr Dragon. I have no fear." The Dragon said, "Why are you eating only the same kind of nuts? There are many different kinds of nuts and flowers across the sea where I live. Why don't you follow me home?" The monkey told the Dragon that he did not know how to get there. Knowing that the monkey was willing to come with him the Dragon told him that it could sit on his back while crossing the sea. So the monkey climbed down from the tree and followed the Dragon home. While crossing the sea with the monkey riding on his back, suddenly the Dragon made a dive. With the salt water getting into his mouth and eyes the monkey screamed out, "Where are you going?" The Dragon told him that his wife was sick and wanted to eat the heart of a monkey. The monkey said, "Oh! my dear friend why didn't you tell me earlier? I left my heart on the tree top. Take me back and I'll get my heart for Mrs Dargon." Since the monkey did not have his heart with him the Dragon thought that he had no choice but to take the monkey back to the forest. So the Dragon took the monkey back to the same tree. Quickly the monkey climbed up the tree and refused to come down. The Dragon called out, "Hurry, my dear little friend. I am waiting." The monkey replied, "What a fool you are, Mr Dragon. - 6:49:07 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

There lived in the East Sea a Dragon with his wife Mrs Dragon who was not in good health. Seeing his wife's health was deteriorating the Dragon said to his wife, "Honey, you look pale and anemic and you should eat something which is good for your health. What do you want to eat and I'll get it for you?" Mrs Dragon replied, "The thing that I want to eat you will never obtain it. Why bother?" The husband insisted that she should tell him the food that she desired. Mrs Dragon said, "Well, if you insist. I want to eat the monkey's heart." The Dragon exclaimed, "My dear! Monkeys live in the mountain forests. How am I going to get one of their hearts?" Mrs Dragon said, "Well, in that case don't bother. Anyway, I am going to die soon." Soon after, the Dragon went ashore. There was a forest not far from the seashore and there were many nut trees there. He saw a monkey on a tree top eating nuts. The dragon said to the monkey, "Hello, you up there Mr monkey. Aren't you afraid of falling down?" The monkey replied, "Hi, Mr Dragon. I have no fear." The Dragon said, "Why are you eating only the same kind of nuts? There are many different kinds of nuts and flowers across the sea where I live. Why don't you follow me home?" The monkey told the Dragon that he did not know how to get there. Knowing that the monkey was willing to come with him the Dragon told him that it could sit on his back while crossing the sea. So the monkey climbed down from the tree and followed the Dragon home. While crossing the sea with the monkey riding on his back, suddenly the Dragon made a dive. With the salt water getting into his mouth and eyes the monkey screamed out, "Where are you going?" The Dragon told him that his wife was sick and wanted to eat the heart of a monkey. The monkey said, "Oh! my dear friend why didn't you tell me earlier? I left my heart on the tree top. Take me back and I'll get my heart for Mrs Dargon." Since the monkey did not have his heart with him the Dragon thought that he had no choice but to take the monkey back to the forest. So the Dragon took the monkey back to the same tree. Quickly the monkey climbed up the tree and refused to come down. The Dragon called out, "Hurry, my dear little friend. I am waiting." The monkey replied, "What a fool you are, Mr Dragon." - 6:50:07 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

the center of the EYE lies over ley lines GORT - 8:27:42 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

SCRYING - 8:30:55 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 8:42:13 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:That little dragon story was similiar to a story in my grade 3 reader. - 14:30:49 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:HUMOR2; Two couples who had been great friends since they'd gotten married decided to share a remote rocky mountain vacation. There, they pitched two tents and cooked their dinners over a bright warm campfire. An ample supply of booze made the food tastier. When it got bedtime, one of the men asked the other three,"What do you thinka'all this switchin'round thats goin'on?" The question excited the others and they decided to experiment. After a few hours the question man turned to his new bedmate and said,"I haven't had such a great time in years! Do you think the girls are having as much fun as we are?" - 16:12:09 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Scroobious Pip - 16:17:25 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

I assume that you no longer need information about Lord of the Flies. In fact, I probably haven't much of value to offer as I haven't read it lately. However, you asked about sybolism. Don't you think the entire novel could be "symbolic" of Golding's view of humanity itself? It's an allegory about the baseness of human nature, with each child representing different personality types. Stripped of the confines of civilization, they become something cruel but pure. It's all a symbol. The pig's head, the lord of the flies? Death? Religion? The need to conquor death with religion? I don't know. Good luck, if it's not too late. - 16:30:50 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Siogh-dhraoidheachd - 16:40:03 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

sp(ea)(ll)ing - 16:43:38 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: You may peruse this site; the piece named, "Talk of the Nation, etc." it appears in five parts, I found it uplifting. If you've seen it afore, what did you think? - 17:05:49 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- No, I hadn't read that piece, _Talk of the Nation_. It was rather good I think. One very good point was that morality and religion are falsely linked. Also I agree that BC, by making a public display of bringing his pastors to the White House was done to give the public a view of his morality. - 20:10:04 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: Even a quasi-honest religious-adherent ought to see and admitt that bit of WJC. I found the passages regarding the dialogue "in and throughout" general communication especially good. In the past I have oft tried to point at that prospect by referring to specific words used by and of religion as "givens". We've read them here how the rel.-adh.'s like to include in their posts that "they" are spiritual; what bull-crap. The articles'account portrays the problem that before I could make out but I just couldn't say it right. But now that I have seen someone elses'account of that subject matter, I think I can go on and say something better when the time comes. And yes the falseness of the morality religion connection as an absolute set well with my thinking. I'm sure it serves some simple minded types but to think or want to make it the singular source the sole objective for something so innate while so subjectively diverse is an act of or for insanity. - 20:42:39 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :ALL<<>> have yous guys seen the recent plague of WWJD braclets, bumper stickers, and necklaces. In case you are ignorant of what WWJD stands for, it is "What Would Jesus Do". *Steve pukes*, ahh better. - 20:45:34 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Adam JWGHAK ÝÝÝÝÝÝ:Jesus would get his ass kicked, that's what. Slimy wuss bastard! - 21:10:52 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Adam HMMM...ýýýý Now what would Jesus do in this situation? Hmmm, let's see, if I were Jesus...hmmm, Jesus would be most likely to...hmmmm...I KNOW!!! Jesus would get nailed into a POST!!!! Hahahahahahahahahahahhaha! No way I'm gonna do THAT over a traffic jam!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! Hey, does anyone know what "INRI" means? It means "I'm Nailed Right In!" Hahahahahahahahahah!!! - 21:16:14 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: The last line should have included and read thusly; ...objective for something so innate as morality that while, etc.etc. I really was thinking that all along but got to correcting b4 I typed and that what happened. - 22:11:23 on 9 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:STEVEN- WWJD carnival bracelets? At least you know what to buy for all the xtian relatives for mythmas. ADAM- HA! HA! - 14:59:55 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:Forgive me MARLENE, for I have sinned..I just spent the last two hours talking to fern sniffers...I think they have converted me..help! I need a deprogrammer quick! - 15:52:16 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Nome atleta - 17:54:46 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:I certainly everyone here had their pets blessed during the Feast of St. Francis. LOL! - 17:56:01 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

s/b "hope everyone" - 17:57:01 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst. Out at you from their hiding place. Like acid and oil on a madman's face. His reason tends to fly away. Like lesser birds on the four winds. Like silver scrapes in May. Now the sands become a crust. And most of you have gone away. Come Susy dear, let's take a walk. Just out there upon the beach. I know you'll soon be married. And you want to know where the winds come from. Well it's never said at all. On the Map that Carrie reads. Behind the clock back there you know. At the four winds bar. Hey, hey, hey. Four winds at the four winds bar. Two doors locked and windows barred. One door let to take you in. The other one just mirrors it. Hey, hey, hey. In mesmerism glare and inference. The other one's a duplicate. The queenly flux, eternal light. Or the light that never warms. The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst. Out at you from their hiding place. Miss Carrie nurse and Suzy dear. Would find themselves at the four winds bar. It's the nexus of the crisis. The origin of storms. Just the place to hopelessly. Encounter time and then came me. Hey, hey, hey. Call me Desdenova, eternal light. These gravely digs of mine. Will surely prove a sight. And don't forget my -- (-) dog, fixed and consequent. Astronomy...a star (repeat indefinitely)... - 18:14:41 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- RECONSTRUCTION 1:3--Yeh, for those who prefer the aroma of ferns are sporned by the atheist. Behold the fern-free atheist for he/she/it abhors worshipping the bagatelle. Sniff not for thee shall be dissipated and gone out of the real world forever, says Corny. - 19:38:37 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:--MARLENE...thank you to the almighty Corny for bringing me back to my senses. I was getting mighty bored looking for that spirit in the sky. "into the light, into the light"...Can I still indulge myself in my usual aromatherapy regime? - 19:46:37 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:PLEASURES OF THE MIND 16:12--Ye may sniff of the indisputable aromas of the earth and enjoy, even that of the lowly skunk if thou so wish and if thou thinks it's therapeutic. - 21:40:16 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..you are at the top of your form today! Are you sure that's sage your are using in your turkey stuffing???? - 23:18:42 on 10 Oct 98 GMT

DGreat:If I did not read some of QUAKE's postings, I wouldn't have found this funny. Check it out:EXPERTS WARN OF THREAT FROM 100GB BUG: Firebringer News Service (FBNS) - Experts warned today of a new and deadly threat to our beleaguered civilization: the 100GB Bug. As most people know, McDonald's restaurant signs show the number of hamburgers the giant chain has sold. That number now stands at 99 billion burgers, or 99 Gigaburgers (GB). Within months or even weeks, that number will roll over to 100GB. McDonald's signs, however, were designed years ago, when the prospect of selling one hundred billion hamburgers seemed unthinkably remote. So the signs have only two decimal places. This means that, after the sale of the 100 billionth burger, McDonald's signs will read "00 Billion Burgers Sold." This, experts predict, will convince the public that, in over thirty years, no McDonald's hamburgers have ever in fact been sold, causing a complete collapse of consumer confidence in McDonald's products. The ensuing catastrophic drop in sales is seen as almost certain to force the already-troubled company into bankruptcy. This, in turn, will push the teetering American economy over the brink, which, finally, will complete the total devastation of the global economy, ending civilization as we know it, and forcing us all to live on Taco Bell. - 5:06:55 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

!!! - 9:19:10 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->Dr. Laura is on the Robert Schuller show right now. She is really fucked up these days. - 15:52:27 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 16:37:52 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 16:38:19 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) Easy Goer - 17:40:54 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

Rituel de la Langue Brisee de Thanatos Grand Druide de Broceliande Howard The Duck - 17:43:29 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

dragon ley lines seated - 18:10:41 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

geomancy - 18:11:54 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

Consciousness, as a state of awareness, is not a passive state, but an active process that consists of two essentials: differentiation and integration. Although, chronologically, man's consciousness develops in three stages: the stage of sensations, the perceptual, the conceptual-epistemologically, the basis of all man's knowledge is the perceptual stage. Sensations, as such, are not retained in man's memory, nor is man able to experience a pure isolated sensation. As far as can be ascertained, an infant's sensory experience is an undifferentiated chaos. Discriminated awareness begins on the level of percepts. - 18:20:59 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

!!! - 18:22:39 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

sleep, sleep - 23:40:27 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

PapaSam:All. When the frustrated philosophers, the aspiring poets, and the drummed out druids can find no forum for their spurned spoutings they rely on the good graces of our moderator to give them space, an act of intellectual charity. It reminds me off the poem on the Statue of Liberty " - - the wretched refuse of your teeming shore - - " So I say, to you poor wretches - "Spam on. I know what you have to say isn't worth a shit, but I defend your right to say it." I still wish you'ld say it elsewwhere. - 23:50:38 on 11 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Hey! atheists! I'm just coming down off that seasoning high..sniff..Turkey Day is over and now I'm the one that's stuffed. Joette and Peter how was your turkey? - 3:08:48 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

Thank you EllA:All. When the frustrated philosophers, the aspiring poets, and the drummed out druids can find no forum for their spurned spoutings they rely on the good graces of our moderator to give them space, an act of intellectual charity. It reminds me off the poem on the Statue of Liberty " - - the wretched refuse of your teeming shore - - " So I say, to you poor wretches - "Spam on. I know what you have to say isn't worth a shit, but I defend your right to say it." I still wish you'ld say it elsewwhere. - 23:50:38 on 11 Oct 98 GMT - 6:44:39 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 6:55:37 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center!!! - 7:27:21 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:PAM-- It's hard to work up a tear for you. You seem to refuse to respond to anyone in any meaningful way, you seem to favor disjointed and obtuse romantic prose with the intent of communicating the least possible meaning, and you often convey an air of condescension, all to a group least likely to be appreciative of anti-rationalism. Good strategy if it's bad vibes you seek. - 12:02:55 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:GUNS: Somewhat recent I guess, a seller of guns was killed at an event where gov't types of the ATF were present. I bring this to the attention of those at this site only because of a letter the now deadgunstore fella sent to a local news rag, I guess. In that letter composed by the deadman he continuously or regularly refers to passages from the mythical and superstitious book the bible. To me this indicates the deadman was not a high level thinker. The quack and RTL would probably readily recognise what the deadman meant to convey and thereby could they then proclaim the deadman merely mistaken. To read it go to the worldnetdaily.com/ site. That godthing, its hard to make out how or why anyone would confuse that thing with some or anything good. - 15:54:31 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:JOIN?: here is something that looks like it might be sorta fun... - 17:34:36 on 12 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:HI CARL- As you likely know, it's a holiday weekend here in Canada. I was out for most of the day (eating MORE turkey and pumpkin pie), so I just logged on. I think that site says it all(the humanist site that is). I'm going to the other one you posted right now. - 3:57:54 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:MARLENE-- There's another story of interest on that worldnetdaily site further down: 'Dumped preborns finally buried.' I think these xtians are peculiar. - 4:19:26 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:PAM-- I can't help but notice your silence. I can only speak for myself, but I'd like to see you post in a communicative manner or not at all. You could start by raking me over the coals or something for practise. Sorry to be so blunt but I think you have contributed to the decline of this forum. I'm considering bailing out myself- probably no great loss. - 12:48:15 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:GRANT and CARL- I'm glad the ATF shut the guy down! All we need is more nutcases with guns. We are fortunate enough here in Manitoba not to be plagued with these groups but so I understand Alberta and BC have their fair share. We have a new law here in Canada on gun registration and I think if guns are found in someone's possession and they aren't registered they are removed. I'll check out that site again, Grant. And don't you dare leave us over these nutcases! This is exactly what they want, to trash the page so no one will post. - 14:00:51 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:GRANT: Bailing out, since at play here and noting other sites over several years time, it sounds as tho'they too have peaks and valleys. For myself I find that what I can now say of an atheistic vista has has more life to it. Before this site god stuff was just a nothing easily dismissed. Also, theists are no longer the enemy, but they are so ignorantly ugly that I still can't look at them for too long. I gotta go along with MARLENE's point regarding the nut cases, these individuals who when they look about them, what they see of their religious world lacks for reality and reason. That is about all I can think of them, aka- spammers. Their religious psychological composition- as it now is, does not provide them with a reality an intimate connection with our commonly experienced- is this reason, environment. They have opted for a protection- here consider their savior, "against" it instead of accepting a learning interaction with it. If they had better storys of a good godthing, I'm sure that would help them [instead, todays religious adherent still cling to the tales of the jealous jehovah of the semites.] Is this the insanity of the spam-types here? - 14:59:02 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: Perhaps you may want to check out Farrah at worldnetdaily and his article there. It concerns gun ownership and who will have guns. It appears that he is concerned with irresponsible leaders and power. As I posted before I see cops as just hormoned enriched power hungry licensed killers, some folk trust and defer to them, this is irresponsible, religious believers do this and we agree it is socially reprehensible, as it too is an act of preferring irresponsibility. If world history is idicative of truths, all great calamitys against humanity are marked by those who were and are "unable" to defend themselves. i for one ain't for prayer, hands held so can do nothing. - 16:27:56 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Joette..maybe for the last time too?:-->GRANT..speaking strictly for myself, I think it would be a terrible loss to those of us who appreciate your words of wisdom on this page if you were to bail out. I think that what has happened here is that this page is linked to so few other sites now, and there are so many other atheist sites, that nobody comes here as there are pages with all sorts of bells and whistles on them now. I do not even know who maintains this site anymore, and it is that lack of effort that has sent my afield. - 21:10:28 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

jaywilson--with a proposition--:JOETTE, MARLENE, ROB, PAPASAM, GRANT & ANYONE ELSE WHO GIVES A DAMN: I used to hang here because I recognized a group of people who seemed open-minded, informed, and intelligent. Those traits, however, do not necessarily define an atheist, but if the posters here claimed to be atheists, I didn't mind. (As I stated once before, my atheism is a dog's atheism--no more and no less.) What has caused me to lose interest in this forum has been the petty diatribes from both sides; if this is an atheists' forum, then <i>own it</i>, folks! Y'all haven't had a worthwhile spat on this page in months. Preaching to the converted is bullshit--for believers and non-believers alike; what's <i>new? Screw the spammers, the sophomores, and the dilettantes, and let's post about what it's like to live each day of our lives with no safety net except a hope and a common sense born of experience; a hope that the cretins, whoever and wherever they are, eventually get what's coming to them; a hope that we may be less ignorant tomorrow than we were today; a hope that stupidity is neither genetically nor virally transmitted. In fact, I recall that most of us used to post about just that kind of thing, but perhaps I'm being falsely nostalgic. Whatever. I hope to see you around, comrades. - 22:50:40 on 13 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:PAM-- I can't help but notice your silence. I can only speak for myself, but I'd like to see you post in a communicative manner or not at all. You could start by raking me over the coals or something for practise. Sorry to be so blunt but I think you have contributed to the decline of this forum. I'm considering bailing out myself- probably no great loss. - 2:42:57 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

& 3*** not pertaining to communication thank you EllA - 2:44:20 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center!!! - 2:45:19 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Well sit there and spin Babe! Hahahahaha! - 2:58:17 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

<i>own it</i>, folks - 3:03:44 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Thank you EllA - 3:05:56 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center!!! - 3:06:33 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Spin Baby, spin - 3:09:27 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

go away EllA - 3:35:22 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 3:36:10 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I know who maintains this site and your art is quite impressive and if you wish to thank me - 3:39:58 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

bright blessings to you Pam - 3:41:07 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 3:42:52 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween. - 3:43:36 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center!!! - 3:44:21 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

The Druid shit is lost. There are now only PLAY Druids - 3:48:08 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

go away EllA - 3:50:43 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 3:52:03 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 3:54:07 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

simple=simplicity - 3:55:51 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hokey Druid literature published by romantics (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from mental pauper Pam) that, "Samhell was the Celtic God of the Stupid, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful stupid sacrifices at Halloween." - 3:56:22 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 3:56:56 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

continue and and - 3:58:45 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Spin spin spin - 3:59:49 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA - 4:05:08 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

think nothin of it smEllA - 4:06:01 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:06:05 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Thank you EllA - 4:06:54 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 3:54:07 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:07:43 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit, a gleam in the dragon EYE center!!! - 4:07:59 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:08:32 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

go away EllA - 4:09:06 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:09:39 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

The Druid shit is lost. There are now only PLAY Druids - 4:11:06 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 3:54:07 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:07:43 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:11:14 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - - 4:12:14 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JAYWILSON- Speaking of carrying on without a safety net, someone in my immediate family has just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. In the future (at least not the immediate future) I will have to go about taking care of funeral arrangement. My loved one chooses to believe in god so me comforting them without the "god jabbering" will be difficult for me to do. IMO, there is no safety net. I will not see them in the great beyond, I can't pretend that I will. I think this is an area where atheists have the most difficulty. I suppose that I will only beable to say.....suggestions???? - 4:12:55 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:12:56 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - - 4:12:14 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:14:48 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

simple=simplicity - 4:15:33 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:16:17 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - - 4:12:14 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:14:48 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:17:01 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Anyone who is atheist...suggestions??? - 4:17:29 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play on the freeway - 4:17:50 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:18:43 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 4:20:04 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:21:01 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:MARLENE-- Sorry to hear of the illness. Does your loved one understand your beliefs? - 4:21:23 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

simple=simplicity - 4:15:33 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:21:42 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:21:01 on 14 Oct 98 GMT - 4:22:25 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 4:26:28 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 4:27:05 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

spin baby spin - 4:27:40 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA continue with your art and go away and play with the atheists - 4:28:11 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center. - 4:30:24 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:HI GRANT- Yes they do...well she understands that I think this way..she doesn't understand not believing. - 4:36:00 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center. - 4:37:10 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center. - 4:38:29 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:MARLENE-- I agree. It's a difficult thing for an atheist. My father is very ill. I try to be honest with him, but mainly I try to give him a chance to talk openly about death. Most people are uncomfortable with death (as am I to a degree) and shy away from such talk. My father seems very grateful for the chance to say that he is ready to die and that he thinks he has lived too long. Every situation is probably different but I think it is a great kindness to let people say things that they need to say. Wish I could be more help. Let me think about it. - 4:51:09 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

hi EllA - 5:06:06 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

I sit in the dragon EYE center. - 5:06:42 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:Get a life, Pam - 5:10:36 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:GRANT- You have been helpful! When she is ready, I will definately listen. I think the problem for her will be is that I won't be part of her vision of heaven and therefore I won't be there. I think Pam/rob lives a total fantasy..creepy! - 5:30:45 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Grant:MARLENE-- I don't have a good answer for that. I think it's unfortunate that xtian belief systems are closed to doubt. Seems to me that when faced with death most anyone would desire to think about the possibility that there is no afterlife even if there is no likelyhood of losing their faith, but there can be a fear that even small doubt can jeopardize eternal rewards, a heavy price. I consider this unhealthy, and unforgivably manipulative. She may just have to deal with your atheism in her own way. I think this is a time, to paraphrase part of an xtian poem, for us to be the listener rather than the listened to, and the understander rather than the understood. Hope you get some more input here. I'm concerned with this as well. - 13:56:45 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:GRANT- She's not a heavy believer but the idea of a heaven likely appeals to her because that idea doesn't mean an abrupt and final end. As you say though, I think listening will be all that I'm going to do. If her fear of finality is so strong that the idea of heaven makes her happy right now then I can only be comforted with the fact that she is somewhat comfortable. - 14:50:19 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE...I'm so sorry for your sad news. I had a sister who died not that long ago. We were very close, and she suffered terribly. She did everything under the sun to combat the cancer that took over her entire body, and we shared many, many conversations about what would happen to her after she died. She wanted to believe there was something she was going to, and she understood my atheism, so we often had discussions about it. I never argued with her, but rather looked upon her hopes as a means of coping with her impending death. It gave her some comfort, and I was not about to take away the one thing left to give her hope. She held on as long as she could, but one day just couldn't do it anymore and died peacefully in her sleep. All we can do is offer as much physical comfort and be an ear to listen at that point in a person's life. In my most humble opinion, there are certain things that a dying person should be allowed to hold onto. - 15:04:22 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:(and call me crazy, but I still visit her grave regularly and talk to her) - 15:06:03 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: It is unreal when all 'know' anothers existence is about to cease. Our ma'knew it was about over and knew it for several years prior, that death could happen immediately. It did, and she was no more. But prior talk, afterlife was not spoken of, we laughed at her knockin'down a cop to protect[we guess] one of us in a drunken brawl, we chuckle and laugh at that still. But, talk of or for afterlife we as a family group have never been xtian nor adherents of a godthing's dictates. In such talks, we usually end up laughing at the various prospects of this want for an afterlife. - 15:16:56 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:JOETTE: Of grave visits, that too is very strange because we feel, I feel, very comfortable. Upon reflection it must be simply that we know, or any know, that the remains of those deceased are there. Any visit is about like seeing someone you haven't seen in a long while. I had an uncle who wandered the earth, walked everywhere but was usually picked up or he'd jump on a slow-moving train, and it was always so good to see him just ambling in our direction. Thats the gravesite visit I know. - 15:37:38 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE and CARL- Thank you too for your help. It is much appreciated. Carl, I think that's really neat, being raised in a family without any talk of religion. Have you any siblings that have at least experimented with religion? And did your parent's parents have any religious backround? - 16:33:02 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:On grave visits...I can't say that I have ever visited the graves of the deceased in my family. That's not to say that I don't think of those persons often but I don't visit because I don't feel that they are there or..maybe the symbol of the gravestone or whatever doesn't do it for me. Both Carl and Joette do though, is there anyone else that doesn't? - 16:37:22 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Pam*** hi EllA:I sit in the dragon EYE center. - 16:38:24 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

pull the longsword--- there are many ways to truth - 16:52:25 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

OF course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not-especially under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties concerned, to keep the affair from the public, at least for the present, or until we had farther opportunities for investigation --through our endeavors to effect this --a garbled or exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the source of many unpleasant misrepresentations, and, very naturally, of a great deal of disbelief. It is now rendered necessary that I give the facts --as far as I comprehend them myself. They are, succinctly, these: My attention, for the last three years, had been repeatedly drawn to the subject of Mesmerism; and, about nine months ago it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that in the series of experiments made hitherto, there had been a very remarkable and most unaccountable omission: --no person had as yet been mesmerized in articulo mortis. It remained to be seen, first, whether, in such condition, there existed in the patient any susceptibility to the magnetic influence; secondly, whether, if any existed, it was impaired or increased by the condition; thirdly, to what extent, or for how long a period, the encroachments of Death might be arrested by the process. There were other points to be ascertained, but these most excited my curiosity --the last in especial, from the immensely important character of its consequences. In looking around me for some subject by whose means I might test these particulars, I was brought to think of my friend, M. Ernest Valdemar, the well-known compiler of the "Bibliotheca Forensica," and author (under the nom de plume of Issachar Marx) of the Polish versions of "Wallenstein" and "Gargantua." M. Valdemar, who has resided principally at Harlaem, N.Y., since the year 1839, is (or was) particularly noticeable for the extreme spareness of his person --his lower limbs much resembling those of John Randolph; and, also, for the whiteness of his whiskers, in violent contrast to the blackness of his hair --the latter, in consequence, being very generally mistaken for a wig. His temperament was markedly nervous, and rendered him a good subject for mesmeric experiment. On two or three occasions I had put him to sleep with little difficulty, but was disappointed in other results which his peculiar constitution had naturally led me to anticipate. His will was at no period positively, or thoroughly, under my control, and in regard to clairvoyance, I could accomplish with him nothing to be relied upon. I always attributed my failure at these points to the disordered state of his health. For some months previous to my becoming acquainted with him, his physicians had declared him in a confirmed phthisis. It was his custom, indeed, to speak calmly of his approaching dissolution, as of a matter neither to be avoided nor regretted. When the ideas to which I have alluded first occurred to me, it was of course very natural that I should think of M. Valdemar. I knew the steady philosophy of the man too well to apprehend any scruples from him; and he had no relatives in America who would be likely to interfere. I spoke to him frankly upon the subject; and, to my surprise, his interest seemed vividly excited. I say to my surprise, for, although he had always yielded his person freely to my experiments, he had never before given me any tokens of sympathy with what I did. His disease was if that character which would admit of exact calculation in respect to the epoch of its termination in death; and it was finally arranged between us that he would send for me about twenty-four hours before the period announced by his physicians as that of his decease. It is now rather more than seven months since I received, from M. Valdemar himself, the subjoined note: My DEAR P--, You may as well come now. D-- and F-- are agreed that I cannot hold out beyond to-morrow midnight; and I think they have hit the time very nearly. VALDEMAR I received this note within half an hour after it was written, and in fifteen minutes more I was in the dying man's chamber. I had not seen him for ten days, and was appalled by the fearful alteration which the brief interval had wrought in him. His face wore a leaden hue; the eyes were utterly lustreless; and the emaciation was so extreme that the skin had been broken through by the cheek-bones. His expectoration was excessive. The pulse was barely perceptible. He retained, nevertheless, in a very remarkable manner, both his mental power and a certain degree of physical strength. He spoke with distinctness --took some palliative medicines without aid --and, when I entered the room, was occupied in penciling memoranda in a pocket-book. He was propped up in the bed by pillows. Doctors D-- and F-- were in attendance. After pressing Valdemar's hand, I took these gentlemen aside, and obtained from them a minute account of the patient's condition. The left lung had been for eighteen months in a semi-osseous or cartilaginous state, and was, of course, entirely useless for all purposes of vitality. The right, in its upper portion, was also partially, if not thoroughly, ossified, while the lower region was merely a mass of purulent tubercles, running one into another. Several extensive perforations existed; and, at one point, permanent adhesion to the ribs had taken place. These appearances in the right lobe were of comparatively recent date. The ossification had proceeded with very unusual rapidity; no sign of it had discovered a month before, and the adhesion had only been observed during the three previous days. Independently of the phthisis, the patient was suspected of aneurism of the aorta; but on this point the osseous symptoms rendered an exact diagnosis impossible. It was the opinion of both physicians that M. Valdemar would die about midnight on the morrow (Sunday). It was then seven o'clock on Saturday evening. On quitting the invalid's bed-side to hold conversation with myself, Doctors D-- and F-- had bidden him a final farewell. It had not been their intention to return; but, at my request, they agreed to look in upon the patient about ten the next night. When they had gone, I spoke freely with M. Valdemar on the subject of his approaching dissolution, as well as, more particularly, of the experiment proposed. He still professed himself quite willing and even anxious to have it made, and urged me to commence it at once. A male and a female nurse were in attendance; but I did not feel myself altogether at liberty to engage in a task of this character with no more reliable witnesses than these people, in case of sudden accident, might prove. I therefore postponed operations until about eight the next night, when the arrival of a medical student with whom I had some acquaintance, (Mr. Theodore L--l,) relieved me from farther embarrassment. It had been my design, originally, to wait for the physicians; but I was induced to proceed, first, by the urgent entreaties of M. Valdemar, and secondly, by my conviction that I had not a moment to lose, as he was evidently sinking fast. Mr. L--l was so kind as to accede to my desire that he would take notes of all that occurred, and it is from his memoranda that what I now have to relate is, for the most part, either condensed or copied verbatim. It wanted about five minutes of eight when, taking the patient's hand, I begged him to state, as distinctly as he could, to Mr. L--l, whether he (M. Valdemar) was entirely willing that I should make the experiment of mesmerizing him in his then condition. He replied feebly, yet quite audibly, "Yes, I wish to be "I fear you have mesmerized" --adding immediately afterwards, deferred it too long." While he spoke thus, I commenced the passes which I had already found most effectual in subduing him. He was evidently influenced with the first lateral stroke of my hand across his forehead; but although I exerted all my powers, no farther perceptible effect was induced until some minutes after ten o'clock, when Doctors D-- and F-- called, according to appointment. I explained to them, in a few words, what I designed, and as they opposed no objection, saying that the patient was already in the death agony, I proceeded without hesitation --exchanging, however, the lateral passes for downward ones, and directing my gaze entirely into the right eye of the sufferer. By this time his pulse was imperceptible and his breathing was stertorous, and at intervals of half a minute. This condition was nearly unaltered for a quarter of an hour. At the expiration of this period, however, a natural although a very deep sigh escaped the bosom of the dying man, and the stertorous breathing ceased --that is to say, its stertorousness was no longer apparent; the intervals were undiminished. The patient's extremities were of an icy coldness. At five minutes before eleven I perceived unequivocal signs of the mesmeric influence. The glassy roll of the eye was changed for that expression of uneasy inward examination which is never seen except in cases of sleep-waking, and which it is quite impossible to mistake. With a few rapid lateral passes I made the lids quiver, as in incipient sleep, and with a few more I closed them altogether. I was not satisfied, however, with this, but continued the manipulations vigorously, and with the fullest exertion of the will, until I had completely stiffened the limbs of the slumberer, after placing them in a seemingly easy position. The legs were at full length; the arms were nearly so, and reposed on the bed at a moderate distance from the loin. The head was very slightly elevated. When I had accomplished this, it was fully midnight, and I requested the gentlemen present to examine M. Valdemar's condition. After a few experiments, they admitted him to be an unusually perfect state of mesmeric trance. The curiosity of both the physicians was greatly excited. Dr. D-- resolved at once to remain with the patient all night, while Dr. F-- took leave with a promise to return at daybreak. Mr. L--l and the nurses remained. We left M. Valdemar entirely undisturbed until about three o'clock in the morning, when I approached him and found him in precisely the same condition as when Dr. F-- went away --that is to say, he lay in the same position; the pulse was imperceptible; the breathing was gentle (scarcely noticeable, unless through the application of a mirror to the lips); the eyes were closed naturally; and the limbs were as rigid and as cold as marble. Still, the general appearance was certainly not that of death. As I approached M. Valdemar I made a kind of half effort to influence his right arm into pursuit of my own, as I passed the latter gently to and fro above his person. In such experiments with this patient had never perfectly succeeded before, and assuredly I had little thought of succeeding now; but to my astonishment, his arm very readily, although feebly, followed every direction I assigned it with mine. I determined to hazard a few words of conversation. "M. Valdemar," I said, "are you asleep?" He made no answer, but I perceived a tremor about the lips, and was thus induced to repeat the question, again and again. At its third repetition, his whole frame was agitated by a very slight shivering; the eyelids unclosed themselves so far as to display a white line of the ball; the lips moved sluggishly, and from between them, in a barely audible whisper, issued the words: "Yes; --asleep now. Do not wake me! --let me die so!" I here felt the limbs and found them as rigid as ever. The right arm, as before, obeyed the direction of my hand. I questioned the sleep-waker again: "Do you still feel pain in the breast, M. Valdemar?" The answer now was immediate, but even less audible than before: "No pain --I am dying." I did not think it advisable to disturb him farther just then, and nothing more was said or done until the arrival of Dr. F--, who came a little before sunrise, and expressed unbounded astonishment at finding the patient still alive. After feeling the pulse and applying a mirror to the lips, he requested me to speak to the sleep-waker again. I did so, saying: "M. Valdemar, do you still sleep?" As before, some minutes elapsed ere a reply was made; and during the interval the dying man seemed to be collecting his energies to speak. At my fourth repetition of the question, he said very faintly, almost inaudibly: "Yes; still asleep --dying." It was now the opinion, or rather the wish, of the physicians, that M. Valdemar should be suffered to remain undisturbed in his present apparently tranquil condition, until death should supervene --and this, it was generally agreed, must now take place within a few minutes. I concluded, however, to speak to him once more, and merely repeated my previous question. While I spoke, there came a marked change over the countenance of the sleep-waker. The eyes rolled themselves slowly open, the pupils disappearing upwardly; the skin generally assumed a cadaverous hue, resembling not so much parchment as white paper; and the circular hectic spots which, hitherto, had been strongly defined in the centre of each cheek, went out at once. I use this expression, because the suddenness of their departure put me in mind of nothing so much as the extinguishment of a candle by a puff of the breath. The upper lip, at the same time, writhed itself away from the teeth, which it had previously covered completely; while the lower jaw fell with an audible jerk, leaving the mouth widely extended, and disclosing in full view the swollen and blackened tongue. I presume that no member of the party then present had been unaccustomed to death-bed horrors; but so hideous beyond conception was the appearance of M. Valdemar at this moment, that there was a general shrinking back from the region of the bed. I now feel that I have reached a point of this narrative at which every reader will be startled into positive disbelief. It is my business, however, simply to proceed. There was no longer the faintest sign of vitality in M. Valdemar; and concluding him to be dead, we were consigning him to the charge of the nurses, when a strong vibratory motion was observable in the tongue. This continued for perhaps a minute. At the expiration of this period, there issued from the distended and motionless jaws a voice --such as it would be madness in me to attempt describing. There are, indeed, two or three epithets which might be considered as applicable to it in part; I might say, for example, that the sound was harsh, and broken and hollow; but the hideous whole is indescribable, for the simple reason that no similar sounds have ever jarred upon the ear of humanity. There were two particulars, nevertheless, which I thought then, and still think, might fairly be stated as characteristic of the intonation --as well adapted to convey some idea of its unearthly peculiarity. In the first place, the voice seemed to reach our ears --at least mine --from a vast distance, or from some deep cavern within the earth. In the second place, it impressed me (I fear, indeed, that it will be impossible to make myself comprehended) as gelatinous or glutinous matters impress the sense of touch. I have spoken both of "sound" and of "voice." I mean to say that the sound was one of distinct --of even wonderfully, thrillingly distinct --syllabification. M. Valdemar spoke --obviously in reply to the question I had propounded to him a few minutes before. I had asked him, it will be remembered, if he still slept. He now said: "Yes; --no; --I have been sleeping --and now --now --I am dead. No person present even affected to deny, or attempted to repress, the unutterable, shuddering horror which these few words, thus uttered, were so well calculated to convey. Mr. L--l (the student) swooned. The nurses immediately left the chamber, and could not be induced to return. My own impressions I would not pretend to render intelligible to the reader. For nearly an hour, we busied ourselves, silently --without the utterance of a word --in endeavors to revive Mr. L--l. When he came to himself, we addressed ourselves again to an investigation of M. Valdemar's condition. It remained in all respects as I have last described it, with the exception that the mirror no longer afforded evidence of respiration. An attempt to draw blood from the arm failed. I should mention, too, that this limb was no farther subject to my will. I endeavored in vain to make it follow the direction of my hand. The only real indication, indeed, of the mesmeric influence, was now found in the vibratory movement of the tongue, whenever I addressed M. Valdemar a question. He seemed to be making an effort to reply, but had no longer sufficient volition. To queries put to him by any other person than myself he seemed utterly insensible --although I endeavored to place each member of the company in mesmeric rapport with him. I believe that I have now related all that is necessary to an understanding of the sleep-waker's state at this epoch. Other nurses were procured; and at ten o'clock I left the house in company with the two physicians and Mr. L--l. In the afternoon we all called again to see the patient. His condition remained precisely the same. We had now some discussion as to the propriety and feasibility of awakening him; but we had little difficulty in agreeing that no good purpose would be served by so doing. It was evident that, so far, death (or what is usually termed death) had been arrested by the mesmeric process. It seemed clear to us all that to awaken M. Valdemar would be merely to insure his instant, or at least his speedy dissolution. From this period until the close of last week --an interval of nearly seven months --we continued to make daily calls at M. Valdemar's house, accompanied, now and then, by medical and other friends. All this time the sleeper-waker remained exactly as I have last described him. The nurses' attentions were continual. It was on Friday last that we finally resolved to make the experiment of awakening or attempting to awaken him; and it is the (perhaps) unfortunate result of this latter experiment which has given rise to so much discussion in private circles --to so much of what I cannot help thinking unwarranted popular feeling. For the purpose of relieving M. Valdemar from the mesmeric trance, I made use of the customary passes. These, for a time, were unsuccessful. The first indication of revival was afforded by a partial descent of the iris. It was observed, as especially remarkable, that this lowering of the pupil was accompanied by the profuse out-flowing of a yellowish ichor (from beneath the lids) of a pungent and highly offensive odor. It was now suggested that I should attempt to influence the patient's arm, as heretofore. I made the attempt and failed. Dr. F-- then intimated a desire to have me put a question. I did so, as follows: "M. Valdemar, can you explain to us what are your feelings or wishes now?" There was an instant return of the hectic circles on the cheeks; the tongue quivered, or rather rolled violently in the mouth (although the jaws and lips remained rigid as before;) and at length the same hideous voice which I have already described, broke forth: "For God's sake! --quick! --quick! --put me to sleep --or, quick! --waken me! --quick! --I say to you that I am dead!" I was thoroughly unnerved, and for an instant remained undecided what to do. At first I made an endeavor to re-compose the patient; but, failing in this through total abeyance of the will, I retraced my steps and as earnestly struggled to awaken him. In this attempt I soon saw that I should be successful --or at least I soon fancied that my success would be complete --and I am sure that all in the room were prepared to see the patient awaken. For what really occurred, however, it is quite impossible that any human being could have been prepared. As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejaculations of "dead! dead!" absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the sufferer, his whole frame at once --within the space of a single minute, or even less, shrunk --crumbled --absolutely rotted away beneath my hands. Upon the bed, before that whole company, there lay a nearly liquid mass of loathsome --of detestable putridity.By their standards they tell me thank you for "k" of PADOJO - 17:12:58 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 17:14:12 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 17:24:05 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..I just want to say, if this get rough, and you need a shoulder, just let me know. - 17:38:36 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Harvester of eyes, that's me. And I see all there is to see. When I look inside your head. Right up front to the back of your skull. Well that's my sign that you are dead. And my list for you checks off as null. I'm the harvester of eyes. I'm the eyeman of TV. With my ocular TB. I need all the peepers I can find. Inside the barn where you find the hay. Well just last week I took a ride. So high on eyes, I almost lost my way. I'm the harvester of eyes. Harvester of eyes, that's me....harvester of eyes. And I see all there is to see...harvester of eyes. When I look inside your head....harvester of eyes. Right up front to the back of your skull....harvester of eyes. - 18:20:39 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- You have mail! Thanks! - 18:36:33 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Pam :EllA, Good Will Hunting to you and continue with your web site maintain. The name Lens Larque is probably a pseudonym and feel compelled to use a name of operation other than your own, EllA. nAMES r uSED and you may thank me and continue and and of course. I assume the name Lens Larque to be an alias which carries symbolic import. You have many pseudonym skull niches and your operation is risk free. Too simple perhaps for a human who labels himself an atheist to grasp. - 18:38:00 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 18:39:57 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 18:42:05 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Vercingetorix - 18:46:08 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Vercingetorix - 18:46:25 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

3 is a sacred number :akin to mirror a reflection we cannot see with our eyes knowledge liberates us from being at the mercy of things we can not control - 18:56:19 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

"Be afraid, Be very afraid!!!" - 19:04:52 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) THE FLY - 19:05:53 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 19:06:30 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: There was one individual, an aunt, that made or took a step into the religious realm, o'my nestmates as far as I am aware, none play at the religious adherent thing. Me and a sister are probably the most warlike, she more than I, when interacting with the religious society, the others variously dismiss them. - 19:17:29 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: again I post, of individuals near to me only one, a now dead aunt, chose to enter the religious realm. Of my nestmates as far as I'm aware none are involved. Of my offspring none do that yet, this dispite peerlike pressure. - 19:50:56 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- More personal qestions (if you don't mind, if so just tell to zip it). I know I'm harping on this but so many people are religious because their families are religious and their families were religious and so on. I suppose it also has to do with geography too. For instance, my family originated in England and most people there are xtian. Where did your family originate from and was that country's people religious? I know it's a lot of questions but your situation is really quite unusal, I think. - 19:53:45 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 22:48:14 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

exercise memories constantly not the written foot - 22:49:15 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 22:50:04 on 14 Oct 98 GMT

A syllabry not an alphabet as humans know it the Sumerian in phonetic translations the English spelling sought to approximate the Sumerian pronounciation but some English not in possession which have been put into phonetic variations simple=simplicity right EllA feel compelled to thank me continue and and and a kiss before the redcap - 0:24:22 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 0:25:14 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 0:29:17 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

before the kiss, a redcap - 0:37:18 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Irem Kulula Nephilm really to simple for a simple monkey EllA ,consideration of operation nonetheless, your banishment with laughter even a atheist grows tired of that chaos, an art in a risk free environment really unimpressive EllA feel compelled to thank me continue and and and a kiss before the redcap - 2:00:33 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 2:01:13 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 2:03:13 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 2:03:41 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:EllA, Good Will Hunting to you and continue with your web site maintain. The name Lens Larque is probably a pseudonym and feel compelled to use a name of operation other than your own, EllA. nAMES r uSED and you may thank me and continue and and of course. I assume the name Lens Larque to be an alias which carries symbolic import. You have many pseudonym skull niches and your operation is risk free. Too simple perhaps for a human who labels himself an atheist to grasp. - 2:05:15 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->This lady from Georgia claims to have one on one conversations with Mary. It has been going on for many years, but this is the first year I have heard of her. This page only goes to '94, but you may get a chuckle out of it. - 14:25:10 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

La Dame*** Guillaume Apollinaire Toc toc ll a ferme sa porte Les lys du jardin son fletris Quuel est donc ce mort qu'on emporte Tu viens de toquer a sa porte Et trotte trotte Trotte la petite --(-)souris - 14:37:42 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 14:38:28 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

hi EllA come play with the souris - 14:41:01 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 14:42:38 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->Just an observation..as soon as someone posts, the Mad Spammer comes back. It looks like we will always have to change the number of posts to look at in order to follow a semblance of a conversation. - 14:42:50 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Wenn du ein Opfer bringst und dann darauf eitel bist, so wirst du mit samt deinem Opfer verdammt. - 14:47:37 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 14:48:02 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 14:48:51 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

hi EllA come play with the souris - 14:52:08 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Rob (just testing) Would that be might as well Die as a pam? Sounds tranquil - 15:05:44 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:NEWSFLASH: Ken Starr finally decided to interview Gennifer Flowers! He asked her if her relationship with the president was similar to Clinton's relationship with Monica Lewinski. Gennifer replied, "Close but no cigar." - 15:07:02 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

hi EllA come play with the souris and pick a pseudonym - 15:08:02 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA the pain in your back and all - 15:09:14 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Irem Kulula Nephilm really to simple for a simple monkey EllA ,consideration of operation nonetheless, your banishment with laughter even a atheist grows tired of that chaos, an art in a risk free environment really unimpressive EllA feel compelled to thank me continue and and and a kiss before the redcap - 15:10:15 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." - 15:11:03 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 15:12:26 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

exercise memories constantly not the written foot - 15:17:41 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 17:57:17 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 17:58:32 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 17:59:00 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

hi EllA come play - 18:00:52 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Adam WHERE U BEAN? :Howdy, folks. Just wanted to pop in between edits and say that god sux. Hey, what happens to members of the clergy when they die? THEY LIE STILL! Get it? LIE STILL! HARharharHAR. Hey Marlene, a new ad campaign for an old product: "Broke ANOTHER crucifix nail? Don't get CROSS—get Lucifer's Press-On Nails!" - 18:03:33 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

- 18:05:20 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

thank you EllA and goodbye for 'now' - 18:06:35 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->CARL..another good joke! - 18:34:43 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette,,soon to win another World Series bet..:-->ADAM..definitely time for some new material! LOL! - 18:35:42 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

drew:what is your view on christ and who He says He was and is? - 18:35:48 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->DREW..are you are real person, or just another persona of the Mad Spammer? - 18:36:56 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:DREW>..whether Jesus existed or not is material at this point in time. You asked what our opinion of who he is? He is no one, he is dead. - 18:38:07 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Andrew:It is recorded in history not only in the bible but in other record books as well that Jesus Christ changed lives in a positive way beacause the mericals that witnesses recorded that He had done. Christ also provided proof to his desciples when He talked with them three days after His death in physcal form. they could touch Him and see his scares - 18:47:37 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->ANDREW..but you are taking the Bible as an accurate record of real history, which it is not. It is merely a collection of myths, handed down through the ages. I do believe that the person named Jesus existed, but that he was a radical type, who fed the imaginations of the poor and weak of his time. They needed an escape from the tyranny of the Roman Rule, and Jesus was willing to stand up and speak. I do not believe that he was the son of a god who does not seem to exist at this point in time. - 18:53:11 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :JOETTE<<>> I agree with most of what you said back to Andrew, however, there is no factual proof that a man named jesus ever lived. And if he did live, his name certainly was not jesus. - 19:44:16 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:ADAM- SUX! You broke another one?!?! What ya goin to be for Spook Night? I'm going to play an xtian. I'm looking for mask as I don't think I could really pull off that blank but euphoric look (mind you if I were into drugs??). Anyway, any suggestions. - 21:02:25 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- I Havanna clue what your talking about, lol! - 21:03:15 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- Me too! I also agree with exception to the question of jc's exsistence. Well I didn't make it in the Ms. Fixit department with my computer but as you can see I didn't wreck it either. Off, to a tech on Tuesday! It'll piss me off if it was as simple as I expect. - 21:06:25 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:ANDREW- There are also accounts of "witnesses" seeing little green men, blue fairies and a purple primate by the name of Corny but this doesn't mean that all those delusions had any substance. - 21:10:19 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:AND another thing ANDREW. I understand from xtian lore that when one of them dies they get this whole new different body so why would your jesus still have his scars? - 21:13:24 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..I was having visions of you today pulling pine cones out of your hard drive! hahahaha! For Hallowe'en, just put a scowl on your face and you will look like an xtian for sure. ASIDE: while I have no proof that Jesus existed either, I believe there was a nasty little guy running around making the Romans miserable. (and it wasn't Nero!) - 21:41:10 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:ANY: Has anyone o'you had a chance to read over the popes latest encyclical "Faith and Reason"? I just saw that its out, also wondered how far he strayed from Melancthons[sic?] confessions? How about that ruckus concerning the jewess nun to be or has been declared a saint by the catholics? - 21:50:49 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- Jewess nun? Tell us about that one! - 22:21:20 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I'm lucky that little rodent isn't into high tech stuff, lol! The way it stores things, you'd think it was expecting a seven year winter. - 22:23:23 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Actually that's one area when animals are smarter than some humans. Remember MotherT and her belief that nothing should be canned etc. because her god would provide? - 22:25:31 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: she was quite a thinker and for whatever reason was also a catholic nun. Well she got swept up in the halocaust w/other jews and now the catholics want to or have declared her a saint. Some o'the Jews ain't goin'along with the program and now protest that act. Looks like both sides r'sayin'she was one o'them. Actual details here are hurried and suffer first-time stuff. - 22:35:53 on 15 Oct 98 GMT

ffffffffffff - 1:07:53 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

PapaSan:ALL. I posed a question on another atheist network which I should have put on a christian site. Women have XX chromosomes men have XY. If jesus had no numan father, where did he get his Y chromosome? Or was jesus a woman? Maybe some christian biologist could set me straight. - 1:28:43 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:PAPSAM- Now that's a question I haven't heard before! I'd be interested in hearing the type of answer they'd come up with. - 3:19:34 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:CARL- What's this woman's name and where can I get some more info on the net? - 3:20:57 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 4:32:17 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 4:35:06 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-)cait shith - 4:38:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

DURING the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his age- although I call him a young gentleman- there was something which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed young- and he made a point of speaking about his youth- yet there were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy- of a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse. These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that, physically, he had not always been what he was- that a long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton- an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age- whom he had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there, he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit. The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of the invalid. Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which, at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to record this apparent impossibility as a matter of seriousfact. The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning- or, rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon- and then set forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the title of the Ragged Mountains. Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the hills. The day passed, and still he did not return. About eight o'clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a singular one indeed. "You will remember," said he, "that it was about nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer- the very first and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses. "The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine had its customary effect- that of enduing all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the quivering of a leaf- in the hue of a blade of grass- in the shape of a trefoil- in the humming of a bee- in the gleaming of a dew-drop- in the breathing of the wind- in the faint odors that came from the forest- there came a whole universe of suggestion- a gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodicalthought. "Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an indescribable uneasiness possessed me- a species of nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me- fancies the more distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was arrested by the loud beating of a drum. "My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena. "The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my terrors- for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded steadily and complacently on myunknown way. "At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward. The treewas a palm. "I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation- for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw- I felt that I had perfect command of my senses- and these senses now brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices. "While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter. "I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more singular than any there described. From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion- silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion- amid the million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply- burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of vast age, and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river. "You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I saw- what I heard- what I felt- what I thought- had about it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying that 'we are near waking when we dream that we dream.' Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena." "In this I am not sure that you are wrong," observed Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose and descended into the city." "I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of profound astonishment "I arose, as you say, and descended into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small party of men, clad in garments half-Indian, half-European, and officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the river. "And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled- Igasped- I died." "You will hardly persist now," said I smiling, "that the whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?" When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair- his teeth chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets. "Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe. "For many minutes," continued the latter, "my sole sentiment- my sole feeling- was that of darkness and nonentity, with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt- not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these things I felt- not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery, the sense of weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward- but the past had not lost the vividness of the real- and not now, even for an instant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream." "Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me from showing." We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait- a miraculously accurate one, to be sure- of his own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as Iregarded it. "You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date of this picture- it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner- 1780. In this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend- a Mr. Oldeb- to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship, and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself. "In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,) "that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at home." In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper: "We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville. "Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too late. "N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble those of a snake." I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo. "I presume," I said, "you have authority for this spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the end." "Authority?- no," he replied. "It is a mere typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my life." "Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any fiction- for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical error." - 4:51:35 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Jewish-born Saint Decreed:ABC News link - 4:52:47 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 4:55:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 4:56:19 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. This, according to Mr. Chick, is supposed to be the "true" origin of trick or treating -- of course he also publishes tracts insisting that Catholics aren't Christians, that all non-Christians are Devil-worshippers, and that the entire rock-and-roll record industry is run by Satanists who cast a curse on every record before it's released! - 5:00:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 5:01:23 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

before the kiss a redcap - 5:02:03 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 5:03:04 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 5:03:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

The Mystery of the --(-) Turtle Lake Monster - 5:09:45 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 5:10:38 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:THANKYOU TO THE ATHEIST who posted the thing on the "once atheist" saint. - 5:32:26 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Pam *** For the druids. You know who you are. :yes EllA feel compelled to thank me and certainly banish me with laughter for I leave your domain soonEekthecatSPASDOBHRISTEIawoketo terror because I heard them singing. Yet we were a people who sang. We were of the Celtic race, that tall people famed for their fierce blue eyes and fiercer passions. Most of my clan, my blood kin, had fair hair, but in my youth mine was the color of dark bronze. I have always been different. Nine moons after my birth our druids gave me the name of Ainvar. I was born of the tribe of the Carnutes in Celtic Gaul; free Gaul. My father was not considered a prince, as he had no swords sworn to him personally, but he was of the warrior aristocracy and entitled to wear the gold arm ring, as my old grandmother frequently reminded me. My parents and brothers were dead before I was old enough to remember them, so she raised me alone in their lodge in the Fort of the Grove. I remember when I believed the fort with its timber palisade was the entire world. The air always rang with song. We sang for the sun and the rain, for death and birth, for work and war. Yet when I was startled awake by the druids singing in the grove, I was badly frightened. What if they had discovered me? I should not have slept. I had meant to stay alert in some hiding place until dawn, watching until the druids came to the grove. But I was raw with youth; the events of the night had exhausted me. When I finally found a refuge, I must have tumbled into sleep between one breath and the next. I knew nothing more until I heard the druids singing and realized they were already in the sacred grove. They must have passed very near me. Spying on them was strictly forbidden, subject to the direst punishments, unnamed but whispered. My mouth went dry, my skin prickled, I had not expected to be caught. I just wanted to see great magic done. With agonizing slowness I got to my feet. Every dead leaf rustled my betrayal. But the druids continued without interuption until I bean to think they were unaware of me. Perhaps I could creep close enough to watch them after all, I told myself. My fear was not as great as my curiosity. It never has been. - 6:04:13 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Pam *** For the druids. You know who you are. :yes EllA feel compelled to thank me and certainly banish me with laughter for I leave your domain soonEekthecatSPASDOBHRISTEIawoketo terror because I heard them singing. Yet we were a people who sang. We were of the Celtic race, that tall people famed for their fierce blue eyes and fiercer passions. Most of my clan, my blood kin, had fair hair, but in my youth mine was the color of dark bronze. I have always been different. Nine moons after my birth our druids gave me the name of Ainvar. I was born of the tribe of the Carnutes in Celtic Gaul; free Gaul. My father was not considered a prince, as he had no swords sworn to him personally, but he was of the warrior aristocracy and entitled to wear the gold arm ring, as my old grandmother frequently reminded me. My parents and brothers were dead before I was old enough to remember them, so she raised me alone in their lodge in the Fort of the Grove. I remember when I believed the fort with its timber palisade was the entire world. The air always rang with song. We sang for the sun and the rain, for death and birth, for work and war. Yet when I was startled awake by the druids singing in the grove, I was badly frightened. What if they had discovered me? I should not have slept. I had meant to stay alert in some hiding place until dawn, watching until the druids came to the grove. But I was raw with youth; the events of the night had exhausted me. When I finally found a refuge, I must have tumbled into sleep between one breath and the next. I knew nothing more until I heard the druids singing and realized they were already in the sacred grove. They must have passed very near me. Spying on them was strictly forbidden, subject to the direst punishments, unnamed but whispered. My mouth went dry, my skin prickled, I had not expected to be caught. I just wanted to see great magic done. With agonizing slowness I got to my feet. Every dead leaf rustled my betrayal. But the druids continued without interuption until I bean to think they were unaware of me. Perhaps I could creep close enough to watch them after all, I told myself. My fear was not as great as my curiosity. It never has been. - 6:04:54 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 6:56:57 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:00:15 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:00:41 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:01:14 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:02:23 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:02:58 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:03:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:06:30 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:07:15 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:07:56 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 7:09:06 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 7:09:39 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 7:11:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 7:11:41 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - - 7:12:55 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-)cait shith - 7:13:29 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

DURING the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his age- although I call him a young gentleman- there was something which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed young- and he made a point of speaking about his youth- yet there were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy- of a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse. These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that, physically, he had not always been what he was- that a long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton- an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age- whom he had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there, he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit. The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of the invalid. Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which, at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to record this apparent impossibility as a matter of seriousfact. The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning- or, rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon- and then set forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the title of the Ragged Mountains. Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the hills. The day passed, and still he did not return. About eight o'clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a singular one indeed. "You will remember," said he, "that it was about nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer- the very first and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses. "The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine had its customary effect- that of enduing all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the quivering of a leaf- in the hue of a blade of grass- in the shape of a trefoil- in the humming of a bee- in the gleaming of a dew-drop- in the breathing of the wind- in the faint odors that came from the forest- there came a whole universe of suggestion- a gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodicalthought. "Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an indescribable uneasiness possessed me- a species of nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me- fancies the more distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was arrested by the loud beating of a drum. "My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena. "The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my terrors- for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded steadily and complacently on myunknown way. "At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward. The treewas a palm. "I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation- for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw- I felt that I had perfect command of my senses- and these senses now brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices. "While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter. "I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more singular than any there described. From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion- silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion- amid the million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply- burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of vast age, and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river. "You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I saw- what I heard- what I felt- what I thought- had about it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying that 'we are near waking when we dream that we dream.' Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena." "In this I am not sure that you are wrong," observed Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose and descended into the city." "I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of profound astonishment "I arose, as you say, and descended into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small party of men, clad in garments half-Indian, half-European, and officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the river. "And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled- Igasped- I died." "You will hardly persist now," said I smiling, "that the whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?" When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair- his teeth chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets. "Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe. "For many minutes," continued the latter, "my sole sentiment- my sole feeling- was that of darkness and nonentity, with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt- not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these things I felt- not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery, the sense of weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward- but the past had not lost the vividness of the real- and not now, even for an instant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream." "Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me from showing." We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait- a miraculously accurate one, to be sure- of his own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as Iregarded it. "You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date of this picture- it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner- 1780. In this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend- a Mr. Oldeb- to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship, and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself. "In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,) "that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at home." In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper: "We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville. "Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too late. "N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble those of a snake." I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo. "I presume," I said, "you have authority for this spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the end." "Authority?- no," he replied. "It is a mere typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my life." "Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any fiction- for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical error." - 7:16:35 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 7:17:58 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:18:45 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:19:30 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:20:53 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 7:21:23 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:22:39 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 7:23:13 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:24:20 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:25:38 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 7:26:48 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 7:27:21 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 7:28:52 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 7:30:23 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 7:31:27 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:32:16 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 7:51:03 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene..it's a DISCUSSION not a SOAPBOX:Instead of spamming why don't you post arguments? The druids were not any different from any other nutcase religions in which people were sacrificed to appease gods or goddesses. They were very sad people. - 15:33:45 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:BTW,xtianity is no different with jc being it's sacrifice. The Aztecs and Mayans were not different. Just how many more can we add to this list? People become all caught up in the romance of religions old and new but those same religions were inhumane no matter how much they did or didn't pretend to be in touch with nature. - 15:39:07 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:28:59 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: What always amazes me are the things that some people will choose to fill their minds. Some who fill the mind with stuff as above, lets say, they chose instead to satiate their bodys, I dare say they'd be overweight or they'd abuse their bodys w/drugs and or alcohol. To fix that problem, I hear they have to admit they have a problem. When I stopped boozin'and smoking I think I just stopped. Thinking this though, I figger is why I can't fully understand such connections, of the mind to religion or a body to a foreign substance. - 16:33:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:38:17 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 16:38:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 16:39:44 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 16:40:12 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 16:40:37 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:41:27 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:42:29 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 16:43:02 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-)cait shith - 16:43:57 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

DURING the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his age- although I call him a young gentleman- there was something which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed young- and he made a point of speaking about his youth- yet there were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy- of a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse. These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that, physically, he had not always been what he was- that a long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton- an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age- whom he had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there, he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit. The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of the invalid. Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which, at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to record this apparent impossibility as a matter of seriousfact. The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning- or, rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon- and then set forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the title of the Ragged Mountains. Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the hills. The day passed, and still he did not return. About eight o'clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a singular one indeed. "You will remember," said he, "that it was about nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer- the very first and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses. "The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine had its customary effect- that of enduing all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the quivering of a leaf- in the hue of a blade of grass- in the shape of a trefoil- in the humming of a bee- in the gleaming of a dew-drop- in the breathing of the wind- in the faint odors that came from the forest- there came a whole universe of suggestion- a gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodicalthought. "Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an indescribable uneasiness possessed me- a species of nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me- fancies the more distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was arrested by the loud beating of a drum. "My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena. "The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my terrors- for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded steadily and complacently on myunknown way. "At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward. The treewas a palm. "I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation- for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw- I felt that I had perfect command of my senses- and these senses now brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices. "While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter. "I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more singular than any there described. From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion- silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion- amid the million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply- burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of vast age, and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river. "You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I saw- what I heard- what I felt- what I thought- had about it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying that 'we are near waking when we dream that we dream.' Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena." "In this I am not sure that you are wrong," observed Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose and descended into the city." "I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of profound astonishment "I arose, as you say, and descended into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small party of men, clad in garments half-Indian, half-European, and officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the river. "And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled- Igasped- I died." "You will hardly persist now," said I smiling, "that the whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?" When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair- his teeth chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets. "Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe. "For many minutes," continued the latter, "my sole sentiment- my sole feeling- was that of darkness and nonentity, with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt- not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these things I felt- not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery, the sense of weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward- but the past had not lost the vividness of the real- and not now, even for an instant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream." "Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me from showing." We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait- a miraculously accurate one, to be sure- of his own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as Iregarded it. "You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date of this picture- it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner- 1780. In this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend- a Mr. Oldeb- to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship, and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself. "In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,) "that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at home." In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper: "We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville. "Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too late. "N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble those of a snake." I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo. "I presume," I said, "you have authority for this spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the end." "Authority?- no," he replied. "It is a mere typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my life." "Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any fiction- for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical error." - - 16:47:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:48:27 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:49:09 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:50:09 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 16:50:52 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 16:51:28 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 16:53:37 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:54:27 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:55:15 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 16:55:42 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 16:56:50 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 16:57:43 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

she's as beautiful as a foot - 16:59:00 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 16:59:32 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 17:00:52 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

cause i get ??? everytime someone clicks on it! - 17:04:30 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :ANY<<>> and I wondering what the age is of the asshole that spams this site continually. I would pay to have his IP so I could bomb the childs p90 system. I can not believe that they allow kids in school access to web browsers so they can spam sites with bullshit. I wonder how the pud munch would like me sending 200 messages a day to his email account. I wish that RON would respond to our emails and give us information on whom the board admin is. Something has to be done, I miss the intelligent debates, now all I seem to read on the site is spam. I feel like sacraficing a few druids myself. The funny thing is that the actual druids many years back would be horrified at the idiots that are spamming this page with nonsense. So whomever is spamming the site, please use the one brain cell you have in your head, make an intelligent decision, stick a gun in your fucking mouth and pull the trigger. - 17:05:56 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 17:07:16 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 17:10:35 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 17:12:20 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 17:13:10 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 17:14:09 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 17:15:11 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 17:22:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Every year at this time, bigots begin howling for Pagans to be "stopped" from celebrating our New Year's Day, which they describe as a "Satanic" holiday. Christian Fundamentalists say that we Druids, Witches and other Neopagans kidnap children, sacrifice babies, poison or boobytrap Halloween treats, drink blood, and hold orgies at Halloween. They insist loudly on all these claims, and use them to disrupt our religious rites and even their kids' school parties, despite the total lack of evidence to support them. - 17:27:02 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 17:28:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 17:32:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 17:37:10 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:For the druids. You know who you are. yes EllA feel compelled to thank me and certainly banish me with laughter for I leave your domain soon - 17:48:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 17:49:47 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 17:50:54 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 17:52:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 17:53:31 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 17:54:33 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 17:55:26 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 17:56:32 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 17:57:44 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 17:59:01 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 17:59:42 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Every year at this time, bigots begin howling for Pagans to be "stopped" from celebrating our New Year's Day, which they describe as a "Satanic" holiday. Christian Fundamentalists say that we Druids, Witches and other Neopagans kidnap children, sacrifice babies, poison or boobytrap Halloween treats, drink blood, and hold orgies at Halloween. They insist loudly on all these claims, and use them to disrupt our religious rites and even their kids' school parties, despite the total lack of evidence to support them. - 18:01:06 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 18:03:18 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:For the druids. You know who you are. yes EllA feel compelled to thank me and certainly banish me with laughter for I leave your domain soon - 18:08:03 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 18:08:52 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 18:09:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 18:10:14 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:STEVEN- I wonder if contacting admin@flex.net would help? I think the druids of yesteryear would have had a real nice bonfire with this wiener. - 18:10:33 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:10:48 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 18:11:59 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:STEVEN- Your not too far from Houston, it wouldn't cost too much to call flex net and see what's going on, non? HINT! - 18:12:15 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 18:13:03 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - 18:13:50 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomf seo - 18:14:57 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Every year at this time, bigots begin howling for Pagans to be "stopped" from celebrating our New Year's Day, which they describe as a "Satanic" holiday. Christian Fundamentalists say that we Druids, Witches and other Neopagans kidnap children, sacrifice babies, poison or boobytrap Halloween treats, drink blood, and hold orgies at Halloween. They insist loudly on all these claims, and use them to disrupt our religious rites and even their kids' school parties, despite the total lack of evidence to support them. - 18:16:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:17:17 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 18:17:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:18:33 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 18:19:49 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 18:20:51 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:22:07 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Every year at this time, bigots begin howling for Pagans to be "stopped" from celebrating our New Year's Day, which they describe as a "Satanic" holiday. Christian Fundamentalists say that we Druids, Witches and other Neopagans kidnap children, sacrifice babies, poison or boobytrap Halloween treats, drink blood, and hold orgies at Halloween. They insist loudly on all these claims, and use them to disrupt our religious rites and even their kids' school parties, despite the total lack of evidence to support them. - 18:23:02 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 18:23:31 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 18:24:20 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:25:44 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Pam:For the druids. You know who you are. yes EllA feel compelled to thank me and certainly banish me with laughter for I leave your domain soon - 18:27:08 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 18:27:55 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

$$$ - 18:30:43 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Every year at this time, bigots begin howling for Pagans to be "stopped" from celebrating our New Year's Day, which they describe as a "Satanic" holiday. Christian Fundamentalists say that we Druids, Witches and other Neopagans kidnap children, sacrifice babies, poison or boobytrap Halloween treats, drink blood, and hold orgies at Halloween. They insist loudly on all these claims, and use them to disrupt our religious rites and even their kids' school parties, despite the total lack of evidence to support them. - 18:31:23 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 18:32:55 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 18:34:22 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:35:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

In one fell swoop, the Myers legend is obliterated. We assumed The Shape murdered his older sister and others because he's possessed by a profane force: the Celtic Lord Of The Dead: Samhain. That would substantiate Myers' robotic mannerisms and ability to survive lethal blows. Not so, say the filmmakers. An underground cult abducted Myers at an early age, stamping him with an ungodly symbol. (How did it move from his tummy to his wrist? I know. Picky. Picky.) Thorn, the cult's supernatural overlord, pulls Myers' strings. Myers' goal is to destroy his family's offspring. Why? What threat do they pose to him? Damned if we know. - 18:35:56 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Ker-noo-nos $$$ - 18:38:16 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:38:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 18:39:25 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Caesar informs us that the Druids, and thus the Celts believed in a form of reincarnation, that is the the souls of the dead do not perish but instead pass on - this, he notes is thought to instill bravery in the warriors and make them disregard the terrors of death. - 18:40:36 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Every year at this time, bigots begin howling for Pagans to be "stopped" from celebrating our New Year's Day, which they describe as a "Satanic" holiday. Christian Fundamentalists say that we Druids, Witches and other Neopagans kidnap children, sacrifice babies, poison or boobytrap Halloween treats, drink blood, and hold orgies at Halloween. They insist loudly on all these claims, and use them to disrupt our religious rites and even their kids' school parties, despite the total lack of evidence to support them. - 18:41:34 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 18:42:17 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 18:42:49 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 18:43:15 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Ker-noo-nos $$$ - 18:44:07 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 18:44:49 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

So grab your rose and ring side seat, We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo, Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy, Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. And underneath, the black light, Underneath it all. Four and forty redheads meet, Come to doom 'til the dawn. With threats of gas and rose motif. Their lips apart like a swollen rose. Their tongues extend, and then retract. A redcap, a redcap, before the kiss, before the kiss. Doors like flint and window panes. An endless shadow bar. The owner's boys have gone to work. To stop big deals behind the bar. While outside on the turnpike. They got this new hit tune. Where thrills become as cheap as gas. And gas as cheap as thrills. One thrill and mundane here at last. Expect the cross one more. Lecherous invisible. Beware the limping --(-) cat. Whose black teeth grip between loose jaws. Still ripe and fully bloomed. A rose that's not from anywhere. That you would know or I would care. And the owners boys act most cheerfully. Back home at Conry's bar. When their patrons' thoughts at last. Grow too big for their skulls. And awful things are happening. We've let this drama fold. And now the time has come at last. To crush the motif of the rose. So grab your rose and ring side seat. We're back home at Conry's bar. The blond girl with her tattoo. Reds and wine, cokes of course. Oh my suzy, my suzy. Why did we ever start. It's morning now, you'd never know. The gin, the gin, glows in the dark, glows in the dark. - 18:45:45 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 18:46:30 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :PAM<<>> why don't you and your buddies create your own chat zone and have fun. Why must you ruin ours? Can you answer this in English? - 18:58:39 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:STEVEN, These folks clearly respect nothing ouside their interests, and is the poster responsible for this idiocy someone we knew in a better way? Are we sure its the same? - 19:06:49 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :CARL<<>> I am not sure if all of it is PAM. I am thinking that she is one of a couple. I agree with your assessment on the spamers lack of respect. That is what led me to believe that they may be adolecsent or younger. However, we all know tht there are many adults with the same lack of respect (i.e.--Quake). - 19:29:38 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Steven :CARL <<>> this may be the longest string of legit posts in quit some time. hehe - 19:30:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:STEVEN: Small minds seem to do all they or it can to preserve what it holds or houses, and like a virus if it grips enough of something, it simply destroys it, or so it looks like these druids or whatever they are seem to be doing. - 20:01:35 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->TO MY FRIENDS..in the past month or so, I have had considerable time to surf the net, seeking intelligent conversation wherever it may be found. I have come to the conclusion that even though this discussion page is going through a nasty growing spurt, it is still the best forum to discuss atheism on the web. It is only here that I have discovered that people with brains are actually more interested in real life than the fantasy provided by the internet. And for that, I thank you all. - 20:03:03 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- I also love this page as it is much more slow-paced than a chat. I still feel that maybe if we could contact flex net that they could suggest something to get rid of this crap. I think Steven may have hit the druid on the head when he suggested that it may be some kid. Only someone that immature would be doing this. - 20:34:10 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

PapaSam:JOETTE, STEVEN, CARL. It is sad but true that there are some individuals who begrudge others the simple pleasures of life. This is true of the spammers here who are incapable of setting up a site of their own which is able to attract an audience. Because of their frustration they find it necessary to vent their envy and spite by their spamming activity. They are like children who break your toy because they don't have one. What a collection of sad sacks! - 20:39:39 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Melissa:Someone, I believe it was Carl (though I'm not positive), posted a link to a page containing a piece written by Richard Dawkins regarding a note posted in the front of Alabama's (I think it was Alabama) biology text books, a note with a creationist ring to it. I was wondering if you might remember the address of this page. I have an aunt who just sent me a book titled _Show Me God_ (everyone wants to convert me) and I wanted to print the Dawkins article and send it to her in response. If you remember the location I'd be most appreciative if you'd repost it. Thanks. - 21:18:11 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Melissa:P.S. where do these spammers get this address? Do they go LOOKING for intelligent forums in which to make asses of themselves? Pretty damn pathetic I'd say. - 21:21:12 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Melissa:Me again. Have any of you read this book _Show Me God_? I'm only on page twenty-something and am already a bit bored. However, there was an interesting point he made: that with all the evidence that Mars was in a prime condition for life to develop for a longer period of time than Earth, if we find that life did NOT develop there, (and the author claims that evolutionists claim that wherever the conditions are right, life WILL develop) what does that say about evolutionary theory? Personally, I don't know how valid the claim that, if conditions exist, life WILL develop really is. I'd say this isn't necessarily so, but I'm no expert on evolution. - 21:32:11 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MELISSA..good to see you again. Now, I may be totally wrong here, but didn't scientists say unequivocably not too long ago that there was evidence of life on Mars. Was there not some sort of algae found? Could be totally wrong. - 21:51:05 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MELISSA: It was at a site for R.Dawkins, the caretaker has since updated and I don't see or didn't recognise the piece there. You might also try this site, I found good and well, you'll see what I can't put in words. - 22:41:26 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MELISSA1: Click on my name and go to the links box select "Evo & creation" then select "Cretinism or Evilution" this is the original target. - 22:47:46 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:ANY; being curious and always interested in my fellow humans, one of which recently said these words in his latest encyclical that he calls "Faith and Reason". I haven't had time to read but a few spots here and there but if you wish, here it is. - 22:57:27 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Melissa:CARL: Thanks for the link. It looks interesting. I will browse it. I was able to find the Dawkins article at spacelab.net (I think that's right, something like that anyway). JOETTE: The rock that was found is discussed in this book, Show Me God, and apparently there is no definite, unequivocal, evidence of life on mars, there are other, non-biological explanations for the phenomena found within the rock. The author does present the evidence pretty objectively, yet still sides with the skeptics (skeptics of the "life on mars" hypothesis). You could be referring to a more recent discovery however. The "fossils" found on the rock were some 20-100 nanometers big, much smaller than the smallest one-celled organisms found yet on earth. But this hardly means smaller organisms DON'T exist on earth. I've found that where the evidence points all depends on who you read. - 22:58:01 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->Melissa...this is what I was thinking of...it probably won't help, but I do consider NASA a credible source for thing inter-planetary. And yes, you are correct that the information one reads must be studied and researched as to who produced the information. Similar to Surgeon General reports vs. tobacco company reports. - 23:50:14 on 16 Oct 98 GMT

Melissa:JOETTE: that is precisely the rock I was talking about. An interesting thing the author mentions is that the announcement of the rocks discovery came at a time when the fed. govt. was reevaluating how much money it should be giving NASA, so NASA's interests lie heavily on the side of this rock giving evidence of life on Mars. Frankly, I don't attribute any more value to what any government funded agency (especially US govt funded) has to say about anything than I do to what any other experts have to say. There are too many special interests at play. The US govt is far from non-biased in any arena. Too many lobbying groups to consider. Politics is a hairy and not always truthful business. - 2:19:58 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:MELISSA- I would imagine if the conditions were right, in any place, providing that all materials were also available, life would begin and providing that conditions continued to support life that life would thrive. Until more evidence is found though, we are not certain that life did develop on Mars. I hope that Nasa can continue with exploration to hopefully obtain fossils from the planet Mars itself. Concerning evolution, Dawkins points out that the path from the beginning of life to the present is a slow and gradual evolution. Have you read _Climbing Mount Improbable_? I'm reading it right now, very interesting. I posted a piece from it here a few weeks ago concerning the creationist argument of the "missing link". - 4:20:54 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Goodnight atheists! - 4:22:31 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

My refuge had been a depression between the roots of a huge old tree, a hollow filled with dead leaves. As I eased out of it, a winterkilled twig snap beneath my foot and I froze. If the druids had not heard the twig, surely they could hear my heart pounding. But their singing went on. And so, in time,did I. Very cautiously. Everyone in the fort had known our druids were going to try to force the wheel of the seasons to turn. The traditional ceremonies for encouraging the return of the sun had failed, and the druids had devised a new and secret ritual saaid to be of great power. Only initiates were to be allowed to see the attempt, born of depression. We were suffering a winter without end, a season of blowing granular ice and icy granular wind. Gaul was cloaked in clouds. Livestock was emaciated, supplies exhausted, people frightened. Naturally we looked to our druids to help us. When I was only a knee-child my grandmother had caught me staring, finger in mouth, at several figures, swathed in robes of undyed wool. The robes had hoods like dark caverns from which eyes glowed mysteriously. "They are members of the Order of the Wise," Rosmerta had said to me as she took my hand and led me away, though I continued to look back over my shoulder. "Never stare at them, Ainvar; never even look at them when their hoods are raised. And always show them the greatest respect." "Why?" I was always asking why. Knees creaking, my grandmother had crouched down until her face was level with mine. Her faded blue eyes beamed love at me from amid their network of wrinkles. "Because the druids are essential for our survival," she explained. "Without them, we would be helpless against all the things we cannot see." So began my lifelong fascination with druidry. I wanted to know everything about them. I asked a thousand questions. In time I learned that the Order of the Wise had three branches. Bards were the historians of the tribe. Vates were its diviners. Though all members of the Order were usually called druids for the sake of simplicity, in truth that title belonged to the third division, who studied for as long as twenty winters to earn it. Druids were the thinkers, teachers, interpreters of law, healers of the sick. Keepers of the mysteries. No subject was beyond the mental scruitiny of druids. They measured the Earth and the sky, they calculated the best times for planting and harvesting. Among the practices attributed to them, in avid whispers, were such rituals as sex magic and deathteaching. - 5:33:42 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

My refuge had been a depression between the roots of a huge old tree, a hollow filled with dead leaves. As I eased out of it, a winterkilled twig snap beneath my foot and I froze. If the druids had not heard the twig, surely they could hear my heart pounding. But their singing went on. And so, in time,did I. Very cautiously. Everyone in the fort had known our druids were going to try to force the wheel of the seasons to turn. The traditional ceremonies for encouraging the return of the sun had failed, and the druids had devised a new and secret ritual said to be of great power. Only initiates were to be allowed to see the attempt, born of depression. We were suffering a winter without end, a season of blowing granular ice and icy granular wind. Gaul was cloaked in clouds. Livestock was emaciated, supplies exhausted, people frightened. Naturally we looked to our druids to help us. When I was only a knee-child my grandmother had caught me staring, finger in mouth, at several figures, swathed in robes of undyed wool. The robes had hoods like dark caverns from which eyes glowed mysteriously. "They are members of the Order of the Wise," Rosmerta had said to me as she took my hand and led me away, though I continued to look back over my shoulder. "Never stare at them, Ainvar; never even look at them when their hoods are raised. And always show them the greatest respect." "Why?" I was always asking why. Knees creaking, my grandmother had crouched down until her face was level with mine. Her faded blue eyes beamed love at me from amid their network of wrinkles. "Because the druids are essential for our survival," she explained. "Without them, we would be helpless against all the things we cannot see." So began my lifelong fascination with druidry. I wanted to know everything about them. I asked a thousand questions. In time I learned that the Order of the Wise had three branches. Bards were the historians of the tribe. Vates were its diviners. Though all members of the Order were usually called druids for the sake of simplicity, in truth that title belonged to the third division, who studied for as long as twenty winters to earn it. Druids were the thinkers, teachers, interpreters of law, healers of the sick. Keepers of the mysteries. No subject was beyond the mental scruitiny of druids. They measured the Earth and the sky, they calculated the best times for planting and harvesting. Among the practices attributed to them, in avid whispers, were such rituals as sex magic and deathteaching. - 5:37:35 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Sir Rastus Bear who'd ever believe. You'd be by a song redeemed? Tiere kommen auf den Zuruf ihres Namens. Ganz wie Menschen. --(-)Tiere - 5:40:48 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

aa - 5:42:50 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 5:43:22 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 5:43:44 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Ker-noo-nos $$$ - 5:44:15 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 5:44:52 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 5:45:48 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) cait shith - 5:50:06 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

DURING the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his age- although I call him a young gentleman- there was something which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed young- and he made a point of speaking about his youth- yet there were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy- of a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse. These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that, physically, he had not always been what he was- that a long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton- an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age- whom he had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there, he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit. The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of the invalid. Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which, at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to record this apparent impossibility as a matter of seriousfact. The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning- or, rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon- and then set forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the title of the Ragged Mountains. Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the hills. The day passed, and still he did not return. About eight o'clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a singular one indeed. "You will remember," said he, "that it was about nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer- the very first and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses. "The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine had its customary effect- that of enduing all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the quivering of a leaf- in the hue of a blade of grass- in the shape of a trefoil- in the humming of a bee- in the gleaming of a dew-drop- in the breathing of the wind- in the faint odors that came from the forest- there came a whole universe of suggestion- a gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodicalthought. "Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an indescribable uneasiness possessed me- a species of nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me- fancies the more distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was arrested by the loud beating of a drum. "My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena. "The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my terrors- for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded steadily and complacently on myunknown way. "At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward. The treewas a palm. "I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation- for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw- I felt that I had perfect command of my senses- and these senses now brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices. "While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter. "I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more singular than any there described. From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion- silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion- amid the million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply- burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of vast age, and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river. "You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I saw- what I heard- what I felt- what I thought- had about it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying that 'we are near waking when we dream that we dream.' Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena." "In this I am not sure that you are wrong," observed Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose and descended into the city." "I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of profound astonishment "I arose, as you say, and descended into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small party of men, clad in garments half-Indian, half-European, and officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the river. "And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled- Igasped- I died." "You will hardly persist now," said I smiling, "that the whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?" When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair- his teeth chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets. "Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe. "For many minutes," continued the latter, "my sole sentiment- my sole feeling- was that of darkness and nonentity, with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt- not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these things I felt- not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery, the sense of weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward- but the past had not lost the vividness of the real- and not now, even for an instant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream." "Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me from showing." We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait- a miraculously accurate one, to be sure- of his own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as Iregarded it. "You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date of this picture- it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner- 1780. In this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend- a Mr. Oldeb- to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship, and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself. "In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,) "that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at home." In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper: "We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville. "Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too late. "N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble those of a snake." I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo. "I presume," I said, "you have authority for this spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the end." "Authority?- no," he replied. "It is a mere typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my life." "Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any fiction- for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical error." - 5:51:33 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

toradh - 5:55:24 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

toradh - 5:55:46 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

GORT <AC> - 5:56:33 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 6:14:09 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 6:14:34 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 6:15:02 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 6:16:37 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 6:22:39 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 6:23:19 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 6:24:08 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 6:24:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

she's as beautiful as a foot - 6:25:38 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

My refuge had been a depression between the roots of a huge old tree, a hollow filled with dead leaves. As I eased out of it, a winterkilled twig snap beneath my foot and I froze. If the druids had not heard the twig, surely they could hear my heart pounding. But their singing went on. And so, in time,did I. Very cautiously. Everyone in the fort had known our druids were going to try to force the wheel of the seasons to turn. The traditional ceremonies for encouraging the return of the sun had failed, and the druids had devised a new and secret ritual said to be of great power. Only initiates were to be allowed to see the attempt, born of depression. We were suffering a winter without end, a season of blowing granular ice and icy granular wind. Gaul was cloaked in clouds. Livestock was emaciated, supplies exhausted, people frightened. Naturally we looked to our druids to help us. When I was only a knee-child my grandmother had caught me staring, finger in mouth, at several figures, swathed in robes of undyed wool. The robes had hoods like dark caverns from which eyes glowed mysteriously. "They are members of the Order of the Wise," Rosmerta had said to me as she took my hand and led me away, though I continued to look back over my shoulder. "Never stare at them, Ainvar; never even look at them when their hoods are raised. And always show them the greatest respect." "Why?" I was always asking why. Knees creaking, my grandmother had crouched down until her face was level with mine. Her faded blue eyes beamed love at me from amid their network of wrinkles. "Because the druids are essential for our survival," she explained. "Without them, we would be helpless against all the things we cannot see." So began my lifelong fascination with druidry. I wanted to know everything about them. I asked a thousand questions. In time I learned that the Order of the Wise had three branches. Bards were the historians of the tribe. Vates were its diviners. Though all members of the Order were usually called druids for the sake of simplicity, in truth that title belonged to the third division, who studied for as long as twenty winters to earn it. Druids were the thinkers, teachers, interpreters of law, healers of the sick. Keepers of the mysteries. No subject was beyond the mental scruitiny of druids. They measured the Earth and the sky, they calculated the best times for planting and harvesting. Among the practices attributed to them, in avid whispers, were such rituals as sex magic and deathteaching. - 6:26:29 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

toradh - 6:27:34 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 6:28:12 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 6:29:37 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Klaatu Barada Nikto - 6:30:34 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 6:32:33 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 6:34:01 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Ker-noo-nos $$$ - 6:34:37 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 6:35:55 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 6:37:04 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

: First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 6:45:36 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 6:46:05 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 6:46:51 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M Valdemar - 6:48:42 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

: First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 6:49:28 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 6:50:55 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

A guy walks into a bar with a monkey. The bartender says "Sorry you can't bring that monkey in here". The guy says, "Please, he is a well mannered monkey, I promise. The bartender hesitates for a minute and then decides to let the monkey stay, and tells the guy it’s OK. As soon as the guy lets the monkey down onto the bar, he monkey jumps down, runs over to the pool table and grabs the cue ball then swallows it. The bartender is shocked and says, "You told me he was going to be good!!!!" The guy says, "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into him. Look, I will give you a $20 bill and next week when the monkey "digests" the cue ball I will come back here and give it to you. Then you can give me back the $20 bill. OK???” The bartender agrees and the guy hands him the bill and then leaves with the monkey. The next week the guy comes in with the monkey, passes the cue ball to the bartender. The bartender hands the guy the $20 bill. The guy lets the monkey down on the bar and the monkey runs over to the peanut bowl. He takes a peanut out of the bowl, stuffs it up his butt, takes it out and eats the peanut. The bartender is watching this with total amazement and says, "WHAT THE HELL DID HE DO THAT FOR???" The guy says, "Well ever since he shit out that cue ball he has been checking EVERYTHING for SIZE".... - 7:10:15 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:11:01 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:12:07 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

bad joke (k)arl - 7:13:25 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 7:14:01 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Melissa:MARLENE: Does life HAVE to emerge just because the conditions are right? I suppose I have to agree, if the conditions remain ripe for a very long time, life has no other choice but to emerge. But IF there is no evidence of life ever having inhabited Mars, how to explain it, when the conditions seem to have been good for so long? It'll take more than that to dissuade me of my atheism of course, but it would be an interesting predicament. Of course, who says nature MUST conform to our logic, or all of the laws we have devised so far? Perhaps there is more at work than our newborn scientific industry has yet discovered (more NATURAL phenomena, not SUPERnatural). - 7:14:30 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:15:12 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:16:25 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 7:17:03 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M Valdemar - 7:18:30 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 7:20:26 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:21:03 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ab - 7:21:23 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomh seo - 7:22:47 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Mystery of the --(-) Turtle Lake Monster - 7:24:00 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:24:35 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:25:05 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 7:25:43 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 7:25:53 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

(k) - 7:26:36 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Facts in the Case of M Valdemar - 7:27:09 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomh seo - 7:27:47 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

A guy walks into a bar with a monkey. The bartender says "Sorry you can't bring that monkey in here". The guy says, "Please, he is a well mannered monkey, I promise. The bartender hesitates for a minute and then decides to let the monkey stay, and tells the guy it’s OK. As soon as the guy lets the monkey down onto the bar, he monkey jumps down, runs over to the pool table and grabs the cue ball then swallows it. The bartender is shocked and says, "You told me he was going to be good!!!!" The guy says, "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into him. Look, I will give you a $20 bill and next week when the monkey "digests" the cue ball I will come back here and give it to you. Then you can give me back the $20 bill. OK???” The bartender agrees and the guy hands him the bill and then leaves with the monkey. The next week the guy comes in with the monkey, passes the cue ball to the bartender. The bartender hands the guy the $20 bill. The guy lets the monkey down on the bar and the monkey runs over to the peanut bowl. He takes a peanut out of the bowl, stuffs it up his butt, takes it out and eats the peanut. The bartender is watching this with total amazement and says, "WHAT THE HELL DID HE DO THAT FOR???" The guy says, "Well ever since he shit out that cue ball he has been checking EVERYTHING for SIZE". - 7:28:24 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:29:03 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:29:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 7:30:26 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

bad joke (k)arl - 7:31:06 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:31:48 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The druids joined to the study of nature that of moral philosophy, asserting that the human soul is destructible. STRABO - 7:33:59 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

in - 7:34:22 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:34:56 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) Asio otus - 7:36:15 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:36:50 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

DURING the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his age- although I call him a young gentleman- there was something which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed young- and he made a point of speaking about his youth- yet there were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy- of a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse. These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that, physically, he had not always been what he was- that a long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many years past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton- an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age- whom he had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there, he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit. The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an arrangement with Dr. Templeton, by which the latter, in consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of the invalid. Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient; and this success had very naturally inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of his pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which, at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in America. I mean to say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself had attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long continued effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to record this apparent impossibility as a matter of seriousfact. The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning- or, rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate nothing in the forenoon- and then set forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward and southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the title of the Ragged Mountains. Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is termed the Indian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the hills. The day passed, and still he did not return. About eight o'clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse than usual, and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of his expedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a singular one indeed. "You will remember," said he, "that it was about nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trod had been trodden never before by the foot of a human being. So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a series of accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no means impossible that I was indeed the first adventurer- the very first and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses. "The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine had its customary effect- that of enduing all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the quivering of a leaf- in the hue of a blade of grass- in the shape of a trefoil- in the humming of a bee- in the gleaming of a dew-drop- in the breathing of the wind- in the faint odors that came from the forest- there came a whole universe of suggestion- a gay and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodicalthought. "Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an indescribable uneasiness possessed me- a species of nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me- fancies the more distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was arrested by the loud beating of a drum. "My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena. "The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened my terrors- for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded steadily and complacently on myunknown way. "At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward. The treewas a palm. "I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation- for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw- I felt that I had perfect command of my senses- and these senses now brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation. The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices. "While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter. "I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more singular than any there described. From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion- silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion- amid the million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bathing places, while the river itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply- burthened ships that far and wide encountered its surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees of vast age, and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river. "You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What I saw- what I heard- what I felt- what I thought- had about it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is almost immediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying that 'we are near waking when we dream that we dream.' Had the vision occurred to me as I describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena." "In this I am not sure that you are wrong," observed Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose and descended into the city." "I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air of profound astonishment "I arose, as you say, and descended into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding through every avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely imbued with personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play, without exactly understanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me, however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult and contention. A small party of men, clad in garments half-Indian, half-European, and officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom with the nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded ourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay palace that overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window of this place, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the river. "And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose made a frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were very remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled- Igasped- I died." "You will hardly persist now," said I smiling, "that the whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?" When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally from Bedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked toward Templeton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair- his teeth chattered, and his eyes were starting from their sockets. "Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe. "For many minutes," continued the latter, "my sole sentiment- my sole feeling- was that of darkness and nonentity, with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I felt- not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all these things I felt- not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery, the sense of weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my original self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward- but the past had not lost the vividness of the real- and not now, even for an instant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream." "Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is a watercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me from showing." We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it of an extraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait- a miraculously accurate one, to be sure- of his own very remarkable features. At least this was my thought as Iregarded it. "You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date of this picture- it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner- 1780. In this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend- a Mr. Oldeb- to whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which existed between yourself and the painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your friendship, and to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself. "In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatal sally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,) "that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at home." In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper: "We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of Charlottesville. "Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr. Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in the jar containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in the neighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too late. "N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble those of a snake." I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask how it happened that the name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo. "I presume," I said, "you have authority for this spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be written with an e at the end." "Authority?- no," he replied. "It is a mere typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my life." "Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any fiction- for Bedloe, without the e, what is it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells me that it is a typographical error." - 7:39:51 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:40:55 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Mystery of the --(-) Turtle Lake Monster - 7:41:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The druids joined to the study of nature that of moral philosophy, asserting that the human soul is indestructible. STRABO - 7:44:16 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 7:44:52 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 7:45:32 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

in - 7:46:04 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:46:40 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

ALLYOU SKELETONS WITCHES AND JACK O'LANTERNS sing along!*** HAPPY.....HAPPY.....HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN!HALLOWEEN!*** HAPPY....HAPPY....HALLOWEEN!*** SILVER SHAMROCK - 7:47:20 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomh seo - 7:47:53 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:48:24 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

(k) - 7:49:13 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:49:56 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The druids joined to the study of nature that of moral philosophy, asserting that the human soul is indestructible. STRABO - 7:50:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Mystery of the --(-) Turtle Lake Monster - 7:51:34 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:52:12 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:52:56 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

A guy walks into a bar with a monkey. The bartender says "Sorry you can't bring that monkey in here". The guy says, "Please, he is a well mannered monkey, I promise. The bartender hesitates for a minute and then decides to let the monkey stay, and tells the guy it’s OK. As soon as the guy lets the monkey down onto the bar, he monkey jumps down, runs over to the pool table and grabs the cue ball then swallows it. The bartender is shocked and says, "You told me he was going to be good!!!!" The guy says, "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into him. Look, I will give you a $20 bill and next week when the monkey "digests" the cue ball I will come back here and give it to you. Then you can give me back the $20 bill. OK???” The bartender agrees and the guy hands him the bill and then leaves with the monkey. The next week the guy comes in with the monkey, passes the cue ball to the bartender. The bartender hands the guy the $20 bill. The guy lets the monkey down on the bar and the monkey runs over to the peanut bowl. He takes a peanut out of the bowl, stuffs it up his butt, takes it out and eats the peanut. The bartender is watching this with total amazement and says, "WHAT THE HELL DID HE DO THAT FOR???" The guy says, "Well ever since he shit out that cue ball he has been checking EVERYTHING for SIZE". - 7:53:33 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

bad joke (k)arl - 7:54:04 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 7:54:46 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

in - 7:55:20 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 7:56:10 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

she's as beautiful as a foot - 7:56:59 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 7:57:38 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The druids joined to the study of nature that of moral philosophy, asserting that the human soul is indestructible. STRABO - 7:58:40 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

in - 7:59:10 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) Asio otus - 7:59:50 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 8:00:52 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Na husaidteer an suiomh seo - 8:01:46 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 8:02:25 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

she's as beautiful as a foot - 8:02:57 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 8:03:32 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 8:04:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 8:05:42 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The druids joined to the study of nature that of moral philosophy, asserting that the human soul is indestructible. STRABO - 8:06:23 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 8:07:13 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 8:08:02 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

goodnight EllA*** ,,, ... to Joette be careful of your WILL *** ,,, ... your phrens are not your real friends - 8:12:13 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

balance but not keeper - 8:14:00 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

balance but not keeper - 8:14:48 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

s(k)ip - 8:15:19 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Little you know, phren. - 13:58:02 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene..had enough of this shit:JOETTE- Since this guy seems to be worried about who your "phens" are, post his address so I can spam his account like he/she's spamming this discussion. - 15:41:06 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..but I don't have it...if it is the man from downunder, I could, but without proof, that wouldn't be very fair. Maybe if we were all to write to admin@flex.net something might be able to be done, since our page manager has deserted us. - 16:18:00 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Joette..what the hey..:-->MAD SPAMMER...do you have proof that my phrens are not my friends? I don't want to be looking over my shoulder all the time, so if you are my friend, please tell me. - 16:21:53 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Little you know, phren. than(k) you - 16:47:00 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- The phen obviously is afflicted with the delusion that they are a reincarnation of a druid, I don't believe Grimwood is that much of a nutcase. I have already sent an email to flex.net this morning. Like you suggest, I hope everyone else does too. Sooner or later they will track down the spammer. - 16:51:31 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Little you know, phren. than(k) you - 17:01:26 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MAD SPAMMER...the closest I could find to the word "phren" is the definition of PHRENOLOGY. Does this mean that you believe that the conformation of my skull is a threat to me? Should I somehow remove my skull? Or should I ask someone to bop me over the head, thus causing a fractured skull, thereby changing the conformation? Any takers out there want to take a Louisville Slugger to me? - 17:07:13 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The learned Hellenes from the south called the druids "natural philosophers." The principal obligation of the druids was to keep Man and Earth and Otherworld in harmony. The three were inextricably interwoven and must be in a state of balance or catastrophe would follow. As the repositories of a thousand years of tribal wisdom, the druids knew how to maintain that balance. Beyond our forts and farms lurked the darkness of the unknown. Druid wisdom held that darkness at bay. How I envied the knowledge stored in those hooded heads! My young mind was as hungry for answers as my belly was for food. What force pushed tender blades of grass through solid earth? Why did my skinned knees ooze blood one time, but clear fluid another? Who was taking bites out of the moon? Druids knew. I wanted to know, too. Druids instructed the children of the warrior class, who comprised Celtic nobility, in such skills as counting and telling direction by the stars. We met in the groves and sat at our teachers' feet in dappled shade. Sometimes there were girls in the group. Celtic women who wished to learn were allowed the privilege. But our teachers never shared any real secrets with us; they were only for the initiated. I wanted to know. So of course I found a secret ritual of sufficient power to change the season irresistible. - 17:22:17 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:PHREN- Then your sure as hell on carrying on your legacy! This palce is anything but harmonius with you around. JOETTE- It's not you that most would like to take the slugger to, lol! - 17:50:27 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Little you know, phren. than(k) you - - 17:51:47 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 17:52:14 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Little you know, phren. than(k) you - - (-) - 17:52:57 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 17:54:04 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

-- (-) Asio otus - 17:54:30 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 17:55:09 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

an atheist - 17:55:38 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 17:56:07 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The druids joined to the study of nature that of moral philosophy, asserting that the human soul is indestructible. STRABO - 17:56:34 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

shown here - 17:56:59 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

You will often read in the hate literature published by Fundamentalists (such as the infamous tracts and comic books from multimillionaire publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a fullsized comic book called, "Spellbound?", shown here. His pathological writings describe Ancient Evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins with candles ("made from human fat!") in them for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. - 17:57:53 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The Mystery of the --(-) Turtle Lake Monster - 17:59:40 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 18:00:41 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Klaatu Barada Nikto - 18:01:30 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Jamie was kidnapped by a bunch of evil druids who protect Michael Myers. And now, six years later, Jamie has escaped after giving birth to Michael's child. She runs to Haddonfield to get Dr. Loomis to help her again. Meanwhile, a new family is living in the Myers house, and being stalked by Michael Myers. It's the curse of Thorn that Michael is possessed by that makes him kill his family. - 18:02:13 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

First try "Green Magic: The Fantasy Realms of Jack Vance", TOR Books,USA,1979, or, for the more intrepid, the orginal "The Pilgrims" in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction,Mercury Press,USA ,1966. This is Cugel in yet another attempt to return from banishment -- he struggles. - 18:07:30 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

toradh - 18:08:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

balance but not(k)eeper - 18:09:45 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..LOL! Let's look at this as a test of patience and perseverance. Afterall, there has to be a pony somewhere in this pile of horseshit! - 20:15:53 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

PapaSam:JOETTE, MARLENE. Ignore the idiots. In between their periods of physical masturbation they turn to mental masturbation. They are undoubtedly people who cannot maintain rational relationships and must rely on intruding on others. I'm sure that none of them are in a normal happy sexual relationship and have nothing better to do than to harass those who enjoy life. How sad! - 20:54:44 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- Or...it could be just a pile of stinkin horseshit, lol. PAPASAM- I agree, he/she likely hasn't had a good time for a long time, maybe never! - 20:59:06 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

test - 21:12:46 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..I just read that Canadians buy the most books per capita than any other English speaking country. Now, does this say anything about how smart we are, or that we are too lazy to go the the library? LOL! - 22:25:09 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:JOETTE- It might be that all our damn libraries have been closed. Not only that, what are we Canadians supposed to do during our seven month winters, lol! While on this stat stuff, I heard today that Canadians eat more pork than Americans and our pork is 27% less fat than American pork. We also eat two more servings of vegetables and fruits a day than the Americans do. Again, what else are we supposed to do for seven months? - 23:17:16 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:Seems our druid is on a coffin break. - 23:18:37 on 17 Oct 98 GMT

The diviners had declared the fifth dawn after the pregnant moon to be the most auspicious time. The ritual would be conducted in the most sacred place in Gaul, the great oak grove on the ridge north of our fort. The fort itself had been built to garrison warriors like my father who guarded the approaches to the grove, which must never be profaned by foreigners. Other fortified villages and towns in Gaul were the strongholds of princes, but not ours. Ours was the Fort of the Grove and the chief druid of the Carnutes was its supreme authority. On the night before the secret ritual was to take place I had lain in a froth of impatience, waiting for my grandmother to fall asleep. I had always lived with Rosmerta, who tended to my needs and scolded me as she saw fit. She would never allow me to go out on an icy night to spy on the druids. Of course, I had no intention of asking her permission. On this night of all nights, unfortunately, she seemed wide awake, though usually she was nodding by sundown. "Aren't you tired?" I kept asking her. She smiled her toothless smile at me. Her collapsed mouth was soft as a baby's. "I am not, lad. But you sleep, that's a good boy." - 5:12:49 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Hierscopy - 5:13:36 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Get a life Pam or go to a druid chat site,,,you're delusional,,,and I elect to banish you with laughter - 5:16:00 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE...7 months of winter? It was 25C here today! Still have that eerie weather happening. Anyway, your post made me laugh! - 5:53:54 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

drew omens from the convulsive movements made by the in the death-struggles - 7:35:30 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

drew omens from the convulsive movements made by the in the death-struggles - 7:37:34 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Get a life Pam or go to a druid chat site,,,you're delusional,,,and I elect to banish you with laughter - 7:38:33 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Diamond Dreams and Sparkler spent a bright, sunny afternoon tossing pennies into the wishing well at the Ponyland Fair. As the coins fell into the sparkling water, Diamond Dreams wished for a cape as dazzlind as a moonbeam shining in the night. A moment later, Diamond Dreams looked at her reflection in the water and gasped-it showed a shimmering jeweled cape wrapped around her like a queen! "Your wish came true," smiled Sparkler, who threw a penny into the water and made a special wish of her own. - 7:51:12 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

bump - 7:52:18 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Get a life Pam or go to a druid chat site,,,you're delusional,,,and I elect to banish you with laughter - 7:53:07 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene..becafeful what ye pray for:JOETTE- +25, I'm jealous! It's -2 here right now and maybe snow tonight! I saw a billboard outside a local born-again church yesterday. It said "pray until something happens"....hummmmm..isn't something always happening? What if that something was a plane crash. - 14:19:24 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Joette:-->MARLENE..that reminds me of people who ask, in all seriousness, "Do you think it will ever stop raining?". They don't like it when you reply: "Well, it always does." LOL! - 15:52:09 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Eukaryotes Thank you consequence IOUN stones - 17:38:38 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

She's as beautiful as a foot. She's as beautiful as a foot. She heard somebody say, the other day. Didn't believe it when he bit into her face. Didn't believe it when he bit into her face. It tasted just like a fallen arch. She's as beautiful as a foot. She's as beautiful as a foot. She heard somebody say, the other day. Don't put your tongue on the bloody tooth mark place. Don't put your tongue on the bloody tooth mark place. Her face changing now, a guernsey -- (-) cow. She's as beautiful, oh so beautiful, beautiful as a foot. She heard someone say, the other day. - 17:40:41 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Get a life Pam or go to a druid chat site,,,you're delusional,,,and I elect to banish you with laughter - 17:41:24 on 18 Oct 98 GMT

Marlene:There is something I forgot to mention last week. The reason I'm thinking about it at this moment is that there was a murder here this last week. The victim was a 77 year-old gay man. The "motive" is likely hate toward homosexuals. Anyway, did anyone see on TV, the xtians who were outside the church at the funeral of the boy from Wyoming? The signs were stating that gays go to hell, etc.? It was so typically xtian of them to bash a funeral of all things! - 14:53:51 on 19 Oct 98 GMT

Carl:MARLENE: Mornin'yeah I saw the news reports of that event. The parents seemed as composed as was possible. What or how do the religious adherents fiiger that the godthing figgers in that or other such events? Did you see or had you already seen that site of Babinski? That individual a