Lovelorn
Bill Palmer
Lovelorn: A Journal Entry from March 8, 1995.
After my blue spell of Sunday afternoon, once the rain
has gone and I have talked out my feelings in my earlier
journal entry, I begin to sense that I am free of Z.
In high spirits then, Monday afternoon I find myself
walking along the highway to "G's 4 >O". That's a
restaurant near where I live, and a favorite with
a few people I've known for a long time.
Anyway, my plan involves joining some others for a
little get together honoring a fortunate couple I
count among my good friends.
Although I feel happiness for the two, I have a secret
reason for being nearly ecstatic.
After all, I have taken a big step in banishing Z.
to the back of my mind, a location not unlike where
I suspect she has already placed me in her own
thoughts.
Further, something else about this party is perfect.
No one in this group has ever met Z. I don't have to
worry about difficult memories being brought up.
The modest celebration strikes me as delightful.
This is the happiest sort of event. People do
nothing to excess, and simply revel in the company
of one another. Everyone present seems to be in
an expansive, chatty mood.
Waxing nearly ebullient, I strive to take the cue
and fit in with the spirit of the occasion, knowing
as I do that intensive mingling can be more conducive
to forgetting than merely sitting pensively by myself.
The affair had begun in mid-afternoon. A few hours
later, I decide it's about time to say my good-byes.
I want to leave early enough to walk home along
the beach.
Sunset is approaching. I intend to view the changing
sky as I stroll along the sand toward home.
I beg off for the evening when it becomes clear to me
that the party is going to stretch on for a couple more
hours, at least.
Outside, the sand feels damp under my step. The
air remains fresh from the previous day's rain.
Invigorated as a result, I'm certainly not going
to spend time fretting about my shoes getting wet,
I conclude.
Over the water, the fiery circle drops low in the sky.
I can see from scattered cloud formations that the
sunset will be exquisite.
A connoisseur of ocean sunsets can tell at least an
hour before dusk when a Pacific sky will be spec-
tacular. It depends, more than on anything else,
upon the type of clouds.
(Are all people disappointed in love connoisseurs of
sunsets?)
Due to Sunday's rain the sky begins taking on an
unusually fascinating aspect.
A pale blue hazy ribbon consisting only of clear air
clings to the horizon.
Over that wide, horizontal stripe, the clouds swirl in
vivid shifting hues of orange, purple, and blue.
I feel better than I ever have...since Z. walked out.
On my right a few feet away two people stand on a small
dune holding hands in appreciation of the moment. A
perfect, devoted (I wanted to believe!) romantic pair
at an ideal time.
I don't want to stare. When I turn my gaze back
to the sky, a recollection, entirely uninvited,
infuses my conscious mind, bringing with it a
twinge of apprehension.
My eyes must have widened. I distinctly recall moving
my hand over my heart, and I remember feeling faint.
The clouds mock me for the lie I have been living the
past twenty-four hours!
Forming in the brilliant and restless air with the precision
of a master painter, two large and knowing eyes now watch
me without emotion from high above the water, eyes as
clear and profound as when in the old G. Museum that
day Z. stared into my soul.
Below her eyes, a chiseled nose with its unforgettable
distinct character becomes as real as the morning.
Lower still, a mouth with a faint, enigmatic smile
poised on full lips appears as unavoidably as does
her memory.
These familiar features and others complete the face
etched perfectly in the nebulous tapestry of the
sunset...towering beyond my reach...dominating the
sky...
You said it was time for you to move on with your life.
You said you needed more freedom for exploring new
avenues...
CONFESS, SORCERESS!
Was the path you walked away on paved with magic?
Was it strewn with black arts which you now use to
torment me by making your lovely calm face materialize
immense above the seascape, ruling majestically over
the cold and dark shimmering water, troubling my
gaze, obliterating my hope of forgetting you?
-------------------------------------------------
A number of you have been asking me to repost "Lovelorn",
so I did. Sometimes I feel almost like a musician,
and you are asking me to "do Lovelorn." It's a good
feeling, and I will try to keep honoring your requests
by reposting more of my net classics. You will notice
I have made a few small revisions, based on suggestions
I received when I posted this a few months back. Someday,
I may post other pages of about the same vintage from my
journal, since a lot was coming down at that time. Just
now, as the result of the pain I was dealing with back
in Spring, 1995 when I wrote my entries as a sort of
therapy, I have not been been able to come to grips
with more postings. (Zenobia, if you are reading
this message, post. Use a fake name if you want
to; I could never be fooled about your style.)
Bill Palmer
alt.genius.bill-palmer
chri...@mailexcite.com
wil...@ix.netcom.com (Bill Palmer) wrote:
This must be a mistake. Bill Palmer isn't allowed to post
to alt.prose.
-----== Posted via Deja News, The Leader in Internet Discussion ==-----
http://www.dejanews.com/ Now offering spam-free web-based newsreading
Bill Palmer
In <6mnu7n$oi7$1...@nnrp1.dejanews.com> chri...@mailexcite.com writes:
The post I respond to here represented a typically dirty
move by the "virtual non-writing" member of a sorry little
clique who fancies they own rec.arts.prose and who have
followed me into alt.prose more than once seeking vengeance
on me for my frank opinions. Let's sum up Chris' strategy
in following up my on-topic prose piece in alt.prose
with his malicious crossposting and his spot of drivel:
a) Non-writer Chris manages to post an 8k article
for himself with almost no writing on his part.
On top of that, the little hypocrite actually
attacked ME very recently for including the
text of "Lovelorn" in MY follow-up to someone
else, when "Lovelorn" was the central topic of
the thread discussion! I mean, who twisted
Chris Mac's arm to make HIM repost the complete
text of "Lovelorn" again?
b) Our little fake crossposted my serious prose
piece to alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.d,
and alt.sex.marketplace! That behavior was
little short of venomous on Chris' part.
In addition to the off-topicality of Chris'
postings, the action of posting a serious journal
entry from alt.prose into such places should
be strongly condemned by every serious alt.prose
reader and writer.
C) Now, if I were as clueless about Usenet as are
Gekko and "AD", I would accuse Chris of "copying"
my article. That would be, in effect, saying
that he plagiarized me. What he actually did
was bad enough; I have no need to join Gekko
and "AD" and begin writing "copyright law"
for other Usenet users or start making false
accusations, most especially when the reality of
what Chris pulled was cretinous and egregious
enough its own right.
>
> wil...@ix.netcom.com (Bill Palmer) wrote:
>>The barely-literate Chris Mac "wrote":
>
>>This must be a mistake. Bill Palmer isn't allowed to post
>>to alt.prose.
Bill Palmer wrote:
>
> Lovelorn: A Journal Entry from March 8, 1995.
>
> After my blue spell of Sunday afternoon, once the rain
> has gone and I have talked out my feelings in my earlier
> journal entry, I begin to sense that I am free of Z.
>
> In high spirits then, Monday afternoon I find myself
> walking along the highway to "G's 4 >O". That's a
> restaurant near where I live, and a favorite with
> a few people I've known for a long time.
>
> Anyway, my plan involves joining some others for a
> little get together honoring a fortunate couple I
> count among my good friends.
>
> Although I feel sincere happiness for the two, I have
> my secret reason for being nearly ecstatic.
>
> After all, I have taken a big step in banishing Z.
> to the back of my mind, a location not unlike where
> I suspect she has already placed me in her own
> thoughts.
>
> Further, something else about this gathering seems
> perfect.
>
> No one in this group has ever met Z. I don't have to
> worry about difficult memories being brought up.
>
> The modest, informal dinner party strikes me as being
> exceptionally pleasant.
>
> This is the happiest sort of event. On such rare
> occasions, people take nothing to excess, but
> instead simply revel in the company of one another.
> Everyone present seems to be in an expansive, chatty
> mood, and with such a glow permeating the celebration,
> it's delightfully easy for me to join in.
>
> Waxing nearly ebullient, I strive to take the cue
> and match the social spirit of the occasion, knowing
> as I do that intensive mingling can be more conducive
> to forgetting than merely sitting pensively alone.
>
> The affair had begun in mid-afternoon. A few hours
> later, I decide it's about time to say my good-byes.
> I want to leave early enough to walk home along
> the beach.
>
> Sunset approaches. I intend to view the changing
> sky as I stroll along the sand toward my place.
>
> I beg off for the evening when it becomes clear to me
> that the party is going to stretch on for a couple more
> hours, at least.
>
> Outside, the sand feels damp under my step. The
> air remains fresh from the previous day's rain.
> Invigorated as a result, I'm certainly not going
> to spend time fretting about my shoes getting wet.
>
> Over the water, the fiery circle drops low in the sky.
> I can see from scattered cloud formations that the
> sunset will be exquisite.
>
> A connoisseur of ocean sunsets can tell at least an
> hour before dusk when a Pacific sky will be spec-
> tacular. It depends, more than on anything else,
> upon the type of clouds.
>
> (Are all people disappointed in love connoisseurs of
> sunsets?)
>
> Due to Sunday's rain the sky begins taking on an
> unusually fascinating aspect.
>
> A pale blue hazy ribbon consisting only of clear air
> clings to the horizon.
>
> Over that wide, horizontal stripe, the clouds swirl in
> vivid shifting hues of orange, purple, and blue.
>
> I feel better than I ever have...since Z. walked out.
>
> On my right a few feet away two people stand on a small
> dune holding hands in appreciation of the moment. A
> perfect, devoted (I wanted to believe!) romantic pair
> at an ideal time.
>
> I don't want to stare. When I turn my gaze back
> to the sky, a recollection, entirely uninvited,
> infuses my conscious mind, bringing with it an
> apprensive twinge.
>
> My eyes must have been widening perceptively. Distinctly,
> I recall moving my hand over my heart, and I remember
Bill Palmer
In <o1bd9f40$c40001a0$LocalHost@default> "Alan Hope"
<ah...@skynet.be> writes:
[...] Scads of clueless, envious, vindictive critical
drivel by Alan Hope snipped.
Summing up:
Alan Hope, as anticipated, joins his clique-members
as they enviously attack the net classic "Lovelorn".
Again, it's "Ring arond the rosy, pocket full of
posies, Palmer cah-an't write, *WE* can write better,
Ring around the rosy..."
After eight K of off-the-wall and over-the-top
poorly-written critical blather, Alan Hope finally
gets down to the nitty gritty and pounces his
typo. Ya' got me there, Alan. Thanks so much
for pointing out that "worry" only has two "r's"!
Resolved: Alan Hope is an envious, talentless,
typo-pouncing phony who couldn't write a chunk
of prose one-half as good as "Lovelorn" if his
miserable hide depended on it.
----------------------------------
Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Hope beebles words to
the effect that I am not popular in rec.arts.prose.
Of course I am VERY popular in r.a.p. I get more
follow-up than anyone else. I could post a sneeze
and get a half-dozen follow-ups, at least. While
I am certainly not LOVED by a pitiful, pushy, noses-
far-out-of-joint coterie of writers manque, I am
far more popular than all of them put together,
since I am a far better writer than all of them
put together.
Enjoy.
>
> Lovelorn: A Journal Entry from March 8, 1995.
>
> After my blue spell of Sunday afternoon, once the rain
> has gone and I have talked out my feelings in my earlier
> journal entry, I begin to sense that I am free of Z.
>
> In high spirits then, Monday afternoon I find myself
> walking along the highway to "G's 4 >O". That's a
> restaurant near where I live, and a favorite with
> a few people I've known for a long time.
>
> Anyway, my plan involves joining some others for a
> little get-together honoring a fortunate couple I
> apprehensive twinge.
>
> My eyes must have been widening perceptively. I recall
> moving my hand over my heart when I felt faint.
>
> The clouds mock me for the lie I have been living the
> past twenty-four hours!
>
> Forming in the brilliant and restless air with the precision
> of a master oil painter, two large and knowing eyes watch
> me without emotion from high above the water, eyes as
> clear and profound as when in the old G. Museum that
> day Z. stared into my soul.
>
> Below her eyes, a chiseled nose with its unforgettable
> distinct character becomes as real as the memory of the
> morning she walked away.
>
> Lower still, I see a mouth with a faint, enigmatic smile
> poised on full lips. It appears as unavoidably as does
-------------------------------------------------
with additional postings. (Zenobia, if you are reading
chri...@mailexcite.com
wil...@ix.netcom.com (Bill Palmer) wrote:
>
> In <6mnu7n$oi7$1...@nnrp1.dejanews.com> chri...@mailexcite.com writes:
>
> The post I respond to here represented a typically dirty
> move by the "virtual non-writing" member of a sorry little
> clique who fancies they own rec.arts.prose and who have
I'm not in any clique.
> followed me into alt.prose more than once seeking vengeance
> on me for my frank opinions. Let's sum up Chris' strategy
> in following up my on-topic prose piece in alt.prose
> with his malicious crossposting and his spot of drivel:
your opinions are trivial and irrelevant, like all your writing.
>
>
> b) Our little fake crossposted my serious prose
How fake?
> piece to alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.d,
> and alt.sex.marketplace! That behavior was
> little short of venomous on Chris' part.
Hey, cross-posts from those groups are appearing in alt.prose
it seems natural to return the compliment.
> In addition to the off-topicality of Chris'
> postings, the action of posting a serious journal
> entry from alt.prose into such places should
> be strongly condemned by every serious alt.prose
> reader and writer.
The reposter will decide, didn't you say that?
Your journal sucks, it's your fantasy. Get a life.
> >>The barely-literate Chris Mac "wrote":
> >
> >>This must be a mistake. Bill Palmer isn't allowed to post
> >>to alt.prose.
Jokes over. Your writing is not alternative and is
off-topic in alt.prose.
Now go and play with matches or something, see if you
can light a bonfire in a hayshed or something, that
might keep your jaded ass busy and out of alt.prose
chri...@mailexcite.com
Palmjob wrote:
>
>
<snipped objections to my cross-posting his work to more
relevant groups and ranting at being forbidden to post
here on humanitarian grounds>
Allow me again to say, in the words of Douglas Adams (almost):
"You're a jerk Palmer, a complete asshole."
chri...@mailexcite.com
Palmjob wrote:
>
> Again, it's "Ring arond the rosy, pocket full of
> posies, Palmer cah-an't write, *WE* can write better,
> Ring around the rosy..."
Ah, you imagine everyone dying of bubonic plague and
leaving you alone to roll your WALL OF FLAME around
the writing groups unfettered by petty irritations
such as sanity.
>
> After eight K of off-the-wall and over-the-top
> poorly-written critical blather, Alan Hope finally
> gets down to the nitty gritty and pounces his
> typo. Ya' got me there, Alan. Thanks so much
> for pointing out that "worry" only has two "r's"!
And that's all you absorbed from the post?
> Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Hope beebles words to
> the effect that I am not popular in rec.arts.prose.
> Of course I am VERY popular in r.a.p. I get more
You are not. You are an object of general derision
without any idea of normal behaviour.
> follow-up than anyone else. I could post a sneeze
> and get a half-dozen follow-ups, at least. While
> I am certainly not LOVED by a pitiful, pushy, noses-
> far-out-of-joint coterie of writers manque, I am
> far more popular than all of them put together,
> since I am a far better writer than all of them
> put together.
Why insist on this breast-beating, anyone doing the
research could see this is stupid. Don't you have
any dignity at all?
>
> Enjoy.
I don't think so.
Gilbert Vanburen Wilkes
Excerpts from netnews.alt.prose: 23-Jun-98 Re: Lovelorn by
chri...@mailexcite.com
> wil...@ix.netcom.com (Bill Palmer) wrote:
>
> This must be a mistake. Bill Palmer isn't allowed to post
> to alt.prose.
A clear violation of protocol, Chris. Thank you for reporting same. Very
civic minded of you, i must say.
i shall spank the depends undergarment rube relentlessly for this.
http://english-server.hss.cmu.edu/home/wilkes/
Tom Michaels
>Excerpts from netnews.alt.prose: 23-Jun-98 Re: Lovelorn by
>chri...@mailexcite.com
>
>> wil...@ix.netcom.com (Bill Palmer) wrote:
>>
>> This must be a mistake. Bill Palmer isn't allowed to post
>> to alt.prose.
>
>A clear violation of protocol, Chris. Thank you for reporting same. Very
>civic minded of you, i must say.
>
>i shall spank the depends undergarment rube relentlessly for this.
>
>
> http://english-server.hss.cmu.edu/home/wilkes/
>
The last time that I looked, we lived in a free country. If Palmer
wants to post in "alt.prose," so be it! I'd rather read his
fascinating and thoughtful comments than your feeble attempts at
literary creations.
Jester