jollyroger.com KNOCK KNOCK KNOCKIN' ON BLACKBEARD CABIN'S DOOR HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY
Drake Raft
THE CONSERVATIVE LITERARY REVOLUTION.
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Send join jollyroger to jolly...@jollyroger.com
I know where the most perfect silence is,
Seen it in the wild blue off Hatteras,
A mile out, rainbowed sails in silent bliss,
Looked like they'd collide, but they safely passed.
I know when the most perfect silence is,
Down a dusty Ohio road, high noon,
No shirt on, being burned by the sun's kiss,
Sixteen, takin' my time-- it was still June.
I know what the most perfect silence is,
It's what we say when falling out of love,
It roars and thunders right through the kiss,
Says all that no words can ever speak of.
I know why the most perfect silence is,
It is there for the whisper to be born,
The whisper in her ear became the kiss,
Just a dream in DC early one morn.
I know who the perfect silence is for,
It is for the ones whom we love the best,
It is there to protect them from our core,
By the silent trust we all seek to rest.
And I know how rare that silence can be,
With everyone talkin', it's hard to hear,
But I know I felt it, on the streets of DC,
The sound in her eyes-- it was crystal clear.
And it brought back to mind the rainbowed sails,
And the way it looked like they would collide,
Like two souls set upon fate's iron rails,
But the most perfect silence never died.
Drake Raft
Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
Get off your liberal-socialist-critic's ass, and Create something which
Signifies Something. Or get off my newsgroup. I've had enough of yer
slackademic pretentiousness. The only thing that you have going for
yourself is that whenever you open your mouth, it's to talk about me noble
frigate.
THE JOLLY ROGER
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Drake Raft (dra...@email.unc.edu) wrote:
: THE CONSERVATIVE LITERARY REVOLUTION.
D. Braun
On 9 Dec 1996, Drake Raft wrote:
> Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
> Get off your liberal-socialist-critic's ass, and Create something which
> Signifies Something. Or get off my newsgroup. I've had enough of yer
> slackademic pretentiousness. The only thing that you have going for
This poem is mildly interesting, as in insipid
pop lyrics that go stale before the end of the song. Try again.
Maybe it would be better sung to a post-grunge tune? (Ahhh,
no). "Immaculate poem... Signifies Something"? What? That you wish you
were 16 again and the world was a simpler place? A common theme, and
it has been related much better with fewer words. Try free verse and lose
the sing-song meter.
That's my review, unattached from pretentious connections to a
ciber-literary/political rag.
Dave Braun
Robert St. James
Drake Raft wrote:
>
<snip>
RED ALERT!
JollyRogerBot sighted off starboard!
Set phasers on 'deflate' and fire at will!
--
Robert St. James
(Slacker Novelist by Day, Divine Poet by Night)
http://ares.csd.net/~rsieg/st_james/st_james.htm (writings)
http://ares.csd.net/~rsieg/st_james/st_james.gif (picture)
http://ares.csd.net/~rsieg/a_vye/a_vye.htm (music)
Dancing Bear
In article <58g38u$f...@newz.oit.unc.edu>, dra...@email.unc.edu says...
>
>Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
>Get off your liberal-socialist-critic's ass, and Create something which
>Signifies Something. Or get off my newsgroup. I've had enough of yer
>slackademic pretentiousness. The only thing that you have going for
>frigate.
>
I would like to point out the obvious errors of your ways. First off, this is
not you're freakin' newsgroup, you cross-posting boaster.
Secondly, you lost your parrot and your fake accent. It's much easier for
people to identify you as the clown you are, when you have them. Please don
said costume and act your way back to your own newsgroup.
Thirdly, look around you. Have a real good look. Go ahead, look again. Now,
tell me: Does the room of a thirteen year old really look like the center of
the universe? Don't answer, let me: Only to a thirteen year old.
: I know where the most perfect silence is,
: Seen it in the wild blue off Hatteras,
"Wild blue" is a cliche. Can you use some imagination here, PLEASE?
: A mile out, rainbowed sails in silent bliss,
: Looked like they'd collide, but they safely passed.
Silent seems a bit redundant here. perfect silence/silent bliss.
: I know when the most perfect silence is,
: Down a dusty Ohio road, high noon,
"high noon"? Really? You do have a pension for cliches.
: No shirt on, being burned by the sun's kiss,
: Sixteen, takin' my time-- it was still June.
"burned by the sun's kiss" is also hackneyed. Noon/June/spoon/moon rhyme in the
"immaculate poem", really?
Okay, so you're sixteen, not thirteen.
: I know what the most perfect silence is,
: It's what we say when falling out of love,
"when", or should it be "while"?
: It roars and thunders right through the kiss,
: Says all that no words can ever speak of.
"The Kiss". You know *THE* kiss?
"Says all that no words can ever speak of"
-been there, done that. Nice to know that half the drippy love poetry
I wrote when I was a teenager, is immaculate in these standards. And here
I went and burned it all! -Go figure!
: I know why the most perfect silence is,
: It is there for the whisper to be born,
A whisper would negate the perfect silence, would it not?
: The whisper in her ear became the kiss,
: Just a dream in DC early one morn.
Geez, whispers always do that, don't they? Cliche alert, man the decks, mateys.
There'll be hell to pay on the high seas this day. Mark me words!
: I know who the perfect silence is for,
: It is for the ones whom we love the best,
<Yawn>. This seems like filler material in a run-on poem.
: It is there to protect them from our core,
: By the silent trust we all seek to rest.
It's Perfect Silence Man, protector of everyone, from everyone else's core!
"Silent trust" is a little used too.
: And I know how rare that silence can be,
: With everyone talkin', it's hard to hear,
Not rare enough, damn it! You keep going and going, like a feakin' energizer
bunny. "With everyone talkin', it's hard to hear," Ahem, Mr. Pot, meet
Mr. Kettle.
: But I know I felt it, on the streets of DC,
: The sound in her eyes-- it was crystal clear.
"crystal clear". Do they sell a book of cliches and hackneyed expressions? If
so where did you buy your copy?
: And it brought back to mind the rainbowed sails,
: And the way it looked like they would collide,
These two lines make a hissing noise. Like the sound of someone letting the air
out of a balloon. Or better yet, the wind out of someone's sails.
: Like two souls set upon fate's iron rails,
: But the most perfect silence never died.
Q: If fate was on iron rails, would it sink in the sea?
You jumped from being reminded of an image of two ships passing on the sea (gee,
that's original) to iron rails. Okay, you didn't jump, you thudded.
This is immaculate?
You should spend a little more time reading something other than your dictionary
of cliches and hackneyed expressions. There are some fine examples of poetry out
there in the libraries and bookstores. Hell, you can even find them on the web.
Seek them out, matey, the treasures awaits. When you find them, you will then
realize that good poetry does not require boasting and baiting across newsgroups.
BTW, you forgot one: alt.teen.poetry.and.stuff
-Dancing Bear
John Michael Scalzi, II
>Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
Okay.
There once was a hack named McGucken,
Whose spamming was without compunction;
He claimed it was "true"
But all who read knew
That his brain was not known to function.
Or perhaps a haiku:
Avast ye mateys!
The Jolly Roger has leaks!
Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh!
Boy, THAT was easy.
-----------
John Michael Scalzi, II
Writer/Editor, America Online
We pay up to $250 for humor -- see "http://members.aol.com/DeliteEd"
Personal -- http://members.aol.com/jscalzi
"Some folks are just a murder waiting to happen."
--- Kristine Blauser Scalzi
Tom Salyers
John Michael Scalzi, II (JSc...@gnn.com) wrote:
> There once was a hack named McGucken,
> Whose spamming was without compunction;
> He claimed it was "true"
> But all who read knew
> That his brain was not known to function.
Fun! Let me try:
A right-wing faux pirate named Drake
Spammed wiely about his "ship's wake.
He cried out "Avast!"
While we kicked his ass
'Cause we'd had about all we could take.
--
Tom Salyers "Now is the Windows of our disk contents
IRCnick: Aqualung Made glorious SimEarth by this Sun of Zork."
Denver, CO --from _Richard v3.0_
http://www.dimensional.com/~tsalyers
H Malinda Mccall
John Michael Scalzi, II (JSc...@gnn.com) wrote:
: Or perhaps a haiku:
: Avast ye mateys!
: The Jolly Roger has leaks!
: Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh!
: Boy, THAT was easy.
Love it!
Lone brain cell carooms
Its fellows have died, fed on
Pirate novels and Limbaugh
Schizophrenic hack
Lives in self-made Skinner box
Misuses word "Avast".
Lowly spammer boy
Cheez Doodle breath curdles foul
Blue Beard fantasies
Each finger is named
Pseudonyms most laughable
"Drake-" is his right thumb
Hypocritical
His rants reveal he's clueless
Wait, he'll graduate
Persistent devil
Preaches to working writers
About writing classics
Harbrace is useful
Dictionaries are more so
He disdains them all
Humor value wanes
The spams are never ending
We wish he'd dry up
Jolly Roger posts
as putrid as Make Money Fast
but much less welcome
So much depends on
A pirate cliche overused
No valid points made
I love my killfile
I see only witty posts
That makes me jolly
That parrot is dead
He won't squawk again (or VOOOOMMMMM!)
Pirate talk killed him.
M
--
******************************************************************
The preceding message has nothing to do with Emory Hospital.
It was sent from a private machine on personal time.
I hope the best day of your past is the worst day of your future.
******************************************************************
Snuff Jazz
Literary newsgroups trimmed.
tsal...@dimensional.com (Tom Salyers) wrote:
>John Michael Scalzi, II (JSc...@gnn.com) wrote:
>
>> There once was a hack named McGucken,
>> Whose spamming was without compunction;
>> He claimed it was "true"
>> But all who read knew
>> That his brain was not known to function.
>
>
> Fun! Let me try:
>
> A right-wing faux pirate named Drake
> Spammed wiely about his "ship's wake.
> He cried out "Avast!"
> While we kicked his ass
> 'Cause we'd had about all we could take.
Darke Raft was his name, so we're told,
Ranted nonstop, lest his keyboard grow cold.
His blatherings, shallow and snide
Attracted reader far and wide,
To snicker at the fact he ain't sold.
____________________________________________________________________________
sye...@ix.netcom.com IRC: GinRei
http://serdar.home.ml.org another worldly device...
____________________________________________________________________________
you can crush me as I speak/write on rocks what you feel/now feel this truth
LilChica
Drake Raft wrote:
>
> Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
> Signifies Something. Or get off my newsgroup. I've had enough of yer
> slackademic pretentiousness. The only thing that you have going for
> yourself is that whenever you open your mouth, it's to talk about me noble
> frigate.
>
These are all YOUR newsgroups???
alt.culture.jollyroger
rec.arts.poems
alt.society.generation-x
alt.fan.rush-limbaugh
alt.society.conservatism
alt.politics.usa.republican
rec.arts.books
Or do you just claim that because you spam your crap in all of them?
Drake Raft
Dude-- why are you obsessed with me? To tell you the truth, I'm not too
comfortable about inspiring guys to write poetry about me.
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
43
"Hello?" I said, peering in the darkness, but I couldn't make 'em
out. "Who's there?
"That's the first question, though not the question. Though for
the time I've answered, 'not to be.'"
"Drake?" I could make out that his hair was totally long-- like
dreadlocks too.
"Drake's dead."
"Whoah! Drake!" I peered pretty hard, but it was of no use.
Nothing could penetrate the veil of night the figure wore, but I
recognized the voice.
"A ghost of a ghost of a ghost I am. Or a man without religion."
"What's up? They're sayin'--"
"Shhh-- listen . . ." I listened and I could hear the pounding
bass line coming from away off. "Listen to what my generation has to say.
. ."
"I didn't mean to disturb. . ."
"I was disturbed when my heritage was desecrated and my grave was
robbed."
"Dude! You're alive! A whole lotta people think you committed
hary cary."
"To them I have. Do you read Shakespeare?"
"No."
"Then I am but a ghost to you." He laughed. "A ghost I was when
I lived in this society in which the rational spirit is denied, and the
idea of the moral truth is scoffed at as an ancient pretension which but
hinders the entertainment industry and liberal businesses and lawyers, and
oppresses the weak and denies fathers and mothers the freedom to destroy
that which they conceive."
"Cool people like truth-- some of 'em." It was a stupid thing to
say, but like I said it 'cause the silence was just too big.
"I became a ghost of a ghost when I wrote the truth; I was
crucified on all fronts in this liberal land. For the contemporary rich
liberal, the poor liberal, the white liberal, the black liberal, the male
liberal and the feminist all hold as their sacred first principle that the
truth does not exist. That is all they have going for them, and they will
defend the postmodernists' fundamental axiom to the death. Beware when
battling those who do not believe in a truth, for they do not fight fair,
as they do not perceive fairness to exist. For the postmodernist swings a
double-edged sword. They swing it one way saying there's no such thing as
truth, and then they swing it back, proclaiming their prejudices. Once
long ago science empowered the individual, as it allowed the independent
thinker to interpret reality by his own senses and create descriptions
which reflected reality. But then the most profound description of
reality, quantum mechanics, showed that all was based on chance. Socrates
said that he knew nothing, Neitschez proclaimed that God is dead, Ahab
perished in his pursuit of the ungraspable phantom of life, and Einstein
never found the deterministic theory which he believed was more
fundamental than the quantum mechanics his search gave birth to. So to be
properly educated these days is to be a moral and intellectual nihilist.
The liberals were quick to do away with the vast beauty of Plato's works,
the grandeur of the pursuit of Moby Dick, and Einstein's ubiquitous
significance, and declare onto the eighteen-year-old that it has been
found out that all pursuits of the truth lead to but one-- that nothing
can be known, and thus that the truth does not exist. They teach the
student to abandon the search, and they crucify those who do, destroying
the fundamental source of all that is of use to mankind. And today the
secular reductionists memorize and misuse quantum theory, chaos and
relativity as tools to proclaim that an objective reality does not exist
independent of observation. The pernicious materialist bureaucrats who
congregate 'neath the veil of darkness afforded by the misapplication of
science to the soul use the theories to murder the sole creator of
Greatness-- the individual artist. No longer does it matter what one
creates in the academy, but who one knows. Here art is subjugated to
politics. And thus the death of the truth seeker and the denial of God.
And the diabolical murder of the defender of The Permanent Things-- Uncle
Walt. And as the Permanent Things wither, so too dies eternal love and
thus romance. For in this fallen context, where free love prevails, true
love is banned. And there is no such thing as free love-- in exchange for
it you must become a liberal. I found my corrupted self using my sonnets
not to exalt, not to inspire enduring romance, but to conquer the hearts
and minds of the beautiful. By destroying the virtuous feminine the
feminist destroys the noble masculine. The postmodern elite wish for
nihilism, the in-between, the neither here nor there, for that is where
mediocrity and dishonesty may dominate-- wherever standards do not exist.
And in this darkened land, void of God's romantic morality, my soul was
corrupted when I lost the ability to see feminine innocence's beauty. I
lost the ability to see it not because I grew blind, but because the
liberals had destroyed it. The place ten thousand girls will never fill,
I call true love, for only one girl will. But I shall blame no others for
my actions, for to do so would be to consign myself to slavery and forfeit
the natural rights of my God-given freedom. I walk these woods alone. It
was I who tempted them and denied them the dignity of uniting the immortal
deed with the temporary act. But when we are taught that words mean
nothing, the immortal deed cannot exist. And so I buried the dervish
sonnets. I walk these deep, dark woods seeking redemption. Until we are
redeemed, we cannot avenge. Once teachers served as beacons to guide us
through the darkness, but today their foremost task is to thicken the
postmodern fog."
"Dude-- but don't you think you should be telling everyone this?
I mean I think it'd be cool for them to hear it. I've sort of heard the
same vibes goin' down all over the place. Like people've been talkin'
about things. Lots of people in our generation. Things like the truth."
He laughed. "The truth that is taught these days-- that there is
none. 'Tis a seductive premise for the scholar whose political ambitions
outweigh their intellectual ingenuity. While proclaiming that the truth
does not exist will get you a PhD, it will do little good to keep her
father from lying to her mother. The grave I buried my sonnets in was too
shallow, for a thousand liberal necropheliacs roam this grim land, robed
by pretension, their PhD's serving as a license to make their ignorance
their arrogance. The vultures descend upon the dead artists and poets,
for the dead cannot defend their words. The modern liberal critic is
afraid to live his own life firsthand, and jealous of those who do and did
signify something profound, he must destroy their works so as to level the
playing field. So they criticize, anthologize and philosophize, but they
do not create. For that is the ultimate postmodern sin. The liberals
twist and distort and mutilate the sacred texts, teaching the children
that there is nothing in the ultimate beauty but evil. For the modern
liberal has little to lose by eradicating all spiritual beauty and the
yearning for truth, and everything to gain by replacing it with nihilistic
bureaucracy. A witch by the name of Sycorax possesses my sonnets. She
who could inspire none of them now has them, and such is the manner of
inheritance. And I have her confession of Uncle Walt's murder. I took it
from you. Sorry I knocked you guys down. Like I wasn't in the mood to
hang out or anything."
I realized what he was talkin' about! "Oh yeah-- you nailed
the hell out of us, out there-- it was pretty cool." That was like when
he'd tackled us after we'd just gotten out of the PAD meeting with
Lionhead and the box and everything! It'd been Drake!
"For even a Sycorax must write the truth, and thus the
liberals' sacred secret is that they do not believe their own religion.
Know this, that the postmodernist is fundamentally a liar. They know the
Truth exists, but they believe that it shouldn't, as in Its context their
creations are rendered insignificant. And so they proclaim vengeance upon
God. And in the liberal void how easy it is to find oneself seduced by
thousand temptations they lay before this generation. It's been out in
these woods, beyond this gorge which separates the liberal's kingdom from
nature, where I found an Eden conducive to contemplation. For there's
man's natural state, and it's reflected in the beauty of the exalting
timber and plummeting cliffs. And now, sitting upon this bridge and
gazing down into the unfathomable blackness that all men eventually join,
giving up the ghostly mist of their spirits, I see that which will be for
my poetry. Uncle Walt's murder shall be avenged. They shall be returned
to rest underground, where 'cross the whole wide world they shall resound.
Before Sycorax appends her name to them: killing them, skinning them, and
placing them in an anthology, in the same manner that a naturalist
sanctimoniously snuffs and stuffs the birds that he piously states he
loves. Those who claim to protect our freedoms are forever clipping its
wings. Some die to create, some live to destroy; the latter the aging
state does employ. In this darkened world all truths are but will'o'wisps
my friend-- phantoms that are but visible to those who walk the fields in
the darkest hour, when churchyards yawn. But yet all people harbor a
deeply private knowledge of this ghost, and in our natural yearning for
and loyalty to the truth, all men are created equal in their love of God.
All men yearn for the Truth as they yearn for freedom, for to know the
truth is to be set free. But yet the contemporary fashion is to pretend
to shun this natural yearning, to stand forth as he who is for utter
equality, utter fairness, utter government. The University has become a
battlefield where only the greatest promoters of equality can survive.
The bravest are the forever indecisive, except that their indecision is a
cruel, cunning choice. The morally indifferent economists are best suited
to win, for they subjugate their better instincts to but money-- there is
no truth they admit to, but for the truth by which they gain their
perdition. But look! Look closely, and this pretense dissolves. For
they are possessed by the ghost of avarice-- the drive to become the best.
So then why, in wishing to be superior, do we allow debased, diabolical,
decadent poetry and prose upon the campus? It is because we live in a
shadow of yesterday's revelations, whence the fires born of rational
thought and science raged 'cross civilization. So welcome the
deconstructionists and inferior artists, who by their mediocrity claim to
be superior to all the Greats, and thus the voices of democracy. But
here is the ultimate fallacy which lies in the confusion of politics with
art! For the artist is a tyrant. The creator must be a tyrant in order
to ensure that freedom exists. It's a virtue for an artist to be a
tyrant, but advice for a politician. For one works with the inanimate--
the other with men. The politician must live their life from the outside
in, but the artist must live their life from the inside out. Love of
power and knowledge are different things-- there's no such thing as
philosopher kings. And thus Sycorax was a fallacy. An artist not because
she exalted the peoples' spirits and souls with her decadent words, but
because she served the contemporary resenting political agenda of the
academy by desecrating the peoples' sacred heritage."
"That's cool." Like I was kinda followin' him. It explained a
lot of things.
"And are not these empty architects the true racists, playing upon
the fears of the people, trumpeting their differences? The liberal mind
can be credited with the civil rights movement, but then they missed
racism so much that they reinstituted it. Truly, they have not eyes to
perceive the depths of my soul, and so all I am to them is a white male.
I need not such shallow judgment. And while maintaining this religious
sideshow they're busy patenting the scientific advances made by males,
securing government grants to probe all that which is unprobable by
science. Because science judged Galileo to be superior to the priests,
we've rationalized that the ten commandments were but evolutionary
phenomena created by a beast to oppress his fellow beasts-- so we let them
fade along with the printed word of which they were constructed. And as
God fades so too do all of society's moral institutions. Know ye that the
problems an ideology creates that same ideology will never solve. For the
problem is the bureaucracy that has grown about the ideology, and a
bureaucracy's only interest is self-preservation. And now what children
can rebel against their parents when the family does not exist? What
student can rebel against school when nothing is taught? Freedom cannot
exist without moral responsibility." Drake laughed. "Truth cannot exist
without God. No knowledge that can be bought is of use to me. It takes
either a fool or a dishonest, knifing soul to rise to the helm of these
modern day transcript corporations." He laughed. "Today's educational
institutions are the prophet of truth's executor. Do you hear me?"
"Uh, yeah-- mostly." In a way I did-- it's easier to hear than
understand. I just sat there in the silence for awhile. The crickets were
firing up again, one by one-- I must've startled them into silence. "I
mean Joey thinks you're dead-- she read your poems and stuff. She liked
'em."
"The ones I sent her, but the truth I kept. Made a dagger from
those by which she would have wept. Hid them safe, where a horned horse
would know, where once upon a time the horn did grow."
"Dude, I'm only saying a lot of people really dug you it seems,
like Windy, and Clay and people. I mean they like respected you."
He laughed. "That might be so, but they did not dig deep.
Otherwise they would have dug a hole for me."
"It's like there's some type of battle going on. And there's a
lot of crazy stuff we're all going through, and you know what's up with
it. And it's like you'd be serving it better if you weren't out here. I
mean I bet the liberals or whoever want you out here. Like uncivilized
and everything. I mean if I could write sonnets I'd--"
He laughed some more-- it wasn't a mean laugh, or like a loud one,
or a crazy one, but just a small, quiet one-- "When you follow your mind
into the black, then you turn to find that there is no path back. For
once you've danced with the abyss, when you've felt the ultimate truth,
then there are none but for it-- when this ultimate paradox inspires
laughter in your soul, then there is no return, my friend. For in seeking
the ultimate order the ultimate disorder is found. It happened with
Einstein and vengeance 'gainst whimsical quantum theory, as it happened
with Ahab and his whale."
No one said anything for a bit, but the silence was like too
hideous for me to just sit there saying nothing. "Yeah, but look at all
the beauty in Moby Dick. Like you said or something."
"Have you read it?"
"No." I said. "But I'm going to. And I know it must be cool
because everyone's so into it. And like Quantum mechanics. Maybe it does
tell us how everything is just but chance and all, but Cliff was telling
me how it gave us computers and chemistry, and like a whole lot of medical
stuff, and MTV and airplanes."
"But it took away God."
"No." Drake didn't believe it. He was just seeing what I thought.
"I think that certain people used it to take away God. But like God is
there. I know it because I know it. There's just too much cool stuff and
pretty mornings. It's like science does science and religion does
religion, and all the problems happen when somebody who does neither tries
to use one to do the other."
"The ungraspable phantom of the soul resides in words, the seat of
our consciousness. And as this generation is inundated with technological
illusions, the element of the mind that for thousands of years evolved
about the printed word, the vital aspect that sought justice, truth, and
morality, withers. Studying the atoms of the cells, they have lost the
beauty of the fields, and the meaning of the mind."
"See? That's what I mean. God's out in the fields, in the
entirety, where everyone can see Him. And they're looking for him with
microscopes. And because they don't find Him with their scientific
methods, they tell you he doesn't exist. People miss ya, is what I'm
saying. It's that simple."
"How can one miss that which one never knew?" He laughed-- like I
got this feeling he'd already heard everything I had to say.
"They knew, in a way. And you knew they knew. Otherwise you
would've never written your poems and stuff. I mean not your poems, but
like your poetry-- I mean you had an influence or whatever. You like made
a difference."
"Every man makes his difference, and in that every man is the
same, and so, there is no difference, but for the differences made, but
the differences made are nothing, for in the end all men are the same, as
they were before they were-- nothing."
"Yeah, but see? You're sounding like a liberal and you know it.
Like you might as well have some fun while you're down here-- you know? "
I looked down into inky blackness of the gorge-- there was no end to it.
The night flowed on into it, perpetually and everything, and out of it
floated that smoky mist. "I mean we're all headed that way. In the end
you won't be. I don't think you have to worry about it-- I mean to be or
not to be is not your choice so much, so there's not much use gettin'
distracted with it. If I were you I'd publish the poems-- the dark ones,
and the light ones. Or at least the light ones, as we all keep secrets
and things. And you should publish everything else too, like your
stories. And I'd take the money and buy a Jeep-- just a second-hand
Wrangler, or something, and I'd head for the beach somewhere-- the Outer
Banks, in one of those little houses. And I'd live there year round.
Surf fishin' and stuff. And maybe I'd get married-- you know? If I met a
cool chick who liked cool stuff. Yeah." I was getting excited. "The
darkness has a hunger that's insatiable. But even when it's after dark
out there, and even if they won't let you put up a beacon or anything,
there's that thing inside that they'll never take. It's your faith in the
True. And the only way you'll ever lose it is if you give up looking for
it in other people. 'Cause you only ever see it reflected in their eyes."
"They've destroyed the literary infrastructure which would have
once published the words that exalt. And in this inverted world they
publish the words that desecrate."
"I'd get those poems back from Sycorax if I were you, and give 'em
to the world before she does. You could do it on the WWW Cliff was
sayin'."
"Never." He laughed. "Never in a thousand years would she let my
beasts of angels exist-- even caged in an anthology, branded by her name."
"Yeah-- she's gonna publish 'em in her own name. I'm serious."
Then I realized I was talking about the dream I'd had! With like the
fencing match! "Dude-- I had this dream. It was some sort of poetic
writing thing-- some ceremony. It's what some black lady said. She got
up at like these poetic writing awards thing, and told us Sycorax's
publishing a book of sonnet things called The After Dark Field Book."
Drake laughed. "Why do I find myself amazed at simple logic?"
"Yeah-- she was there too. She stood up when they called her, to
like congratulate her on her new book. Its gonna be out next month. It
like was just a dream--" I shook my head to clear it. It seemed so real.
"Yeah, it was." It was pretty freaky. "But it was just a dream."
I could make him out looking down. "Of course, she has turned to
the rhyming line, with hopes that my work could make her divine." He
laughed. "She wants her name in history to matter, for what she wrote
rather than lifting a dagger. The Nobel could not make a writer of her.
And she thinks my sonnets can."
"But you like have her manuscript thing-- her confession thing,
right? She really killed Uncle Walt, huh?"
I saw him turn his head to look at me. "Yes."
"Like you know what? You could bust her with that, pretty bad, I
bet-- she knows it, I mean. She's wiggin' about it-- I've heard her. And
if you like wanted your poems back, like she'd probably trade you the
manuscript thing for 'em-- "
"Only half."
"Half? Of what?"
"Of the sonnets."
"Where's the other half?"
"Only you know." He laughed.
"Only I know?"
"The messenger has the dagger poems."
"Say what?"
"Timber-- are you not a believer yet? Are you so completely
faithless in the art of dreaming? Have you not heard the wind's
whispers, the thunder's shouts? We are writing the script tonight, my
friend." He threw his head back and laughed. "I buried the noble poems
deep below; I'll bury the dagger poems in my foe. Is not your final
secret society meeting tonight?"
"You know about our--"
"The Jolly Rogers." He laughed. "To honor all those who never
get invited."
"Yeah, at midnight. But I don't know what we're gonna--"
"Cancel it. Cancel it and reschedule it for tomorrow night."
"Actually we were like already gonna do that I think, 'cause we've
got nothing planned, really. Cliff said something about fencing for
Lionhead-- you know that unicorn thing Lionhead? We actually took
Lionhead one--"
"Well then I shall suggest something. An apocalypse with the Lion
Headed horse."
"An apocalypse?" I asked.
"Timber! Did ye not know that our meeting here was written in
destiny's pages at the dawn of time? Rehearsed through half of eternity,
and then set upon paper two thousand years ago. In Revelations I have
read of these things. I saw a star fall unto the earth: and to him was
given the key of the bottomless pit. And he opened the bottomless pit; and
there arose a smoke out of that pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and
the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit, and
for all it was after dark. The star was the beautiful works of Western
Civilization, the bottomless pit was the empowering nihilistic
interpretations the resentniks used to deny God and the True, and the
smoke which pores forth is naught but the postmodern fog. And in those
days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die,
and death shall flee from them. This was me, when Uncle Walt was murdered
and I lost the ability to love a woman. And they had a king over them,
which is the angel of the bottomless pit. Cursed Sycorax is the king of
Princeton. One woe is past; and behold, there come two woes more
hereafter. Uncle Walt lie murdered, and. . . thus I saw the horses in the
vision, and the heads of the horses were as the heads of lions; and out of
their mouths issued fire and smoke and brimstone. By these three was the
third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the
brimstone. And the rest of the men which were not yet killed by these
plagues yet repented not of the works of their hands, that they should not
worship devils, and idols of gold, and silver, and brass, and stone, and
of wood: which neither can see, nor hear, nor walk. Neither repented they
of their murders, nor of their sorceries, nor of their fornication, nor of
their thefts. Invite both PAD and The Jolly Rogers to the secret society
ceremonial grounds out yonder." He pointed out beyond the bridge. "Have
them fence for Lionhead tomorrow night."
"That's exactly what Cliff was sayin'! Like a grand finale!"
I could see him nodding. The moon was rising and I could see his
features some. I thought back to a few nights ago when we'd seen the moon
rising from the train, and boy, that seemed like ten years ago. "So that
would mean that Ryan and Mortimer would be fencing."
"Yeah-- probably Ryan and like Mort. Mort's the only one who
knows how to fence in the Princetonians After Dark, we're pretty sure."
He stood up. "Tell Sycorax that I'll fence Ryan for the
manuscript, once he has beaten Mortimer for Lionhead. I will return her
manuscript if he wins, and if I win then I shall regain my poems." He
laughed.
"You serious?"
"As serious as the divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them
how we will. Ah yes, in good sport, 'neath the final night, poetry and
darkness shall fight their fight. She who killed my father, buried him
below, forgot that sons their father's paths follow. The witch razed
Princeton's land, made it fallow, but her art withers while my truth does
grow. Once I saw nothing, but now I do see, that sight's worth nothing
when the dream shall be. Had I never known darkness, void of light's
gleam, I would have never been able to dream." He turned so his face was
in total shadow. "We shall see. When is it?"
"Like I think just as it gets dark-- or no, at midnight, like
after the Preppy Death show and all."
"And where?"
"Right here. At the ceremonial grounds out there."
"Of course-- symmetry does exist, though it is subtle and runs
deep beneath the chaos, but it is there. Yes-- I was born into this
world, told by society that there is no God, taught by teachers that there
is no reason, educated by educators that there is no purpose, that there
is no rationale, that there is no thought, but those who told me and
sentenced me to death were mistaken. For divinity can not be denied a
man, without him being denied his life. And by this light, Princeton
shall now ignite; and my truth shall live beyond this brief light, for
though I fall to death, my breath shall know flight. New light is born
from the light of truth's fire, while for others it's a funeral pyre. Let
it be." Drake stood up. "Sycorax wishes for equality, let her be equal
to man's tragedy. My mentor murdered, I strayed from the path, henceforth
I'll serve the Permanent Thing's wrath." And with that he crossed over to
the far side of the bridge and slipped silently away into the forest.
Something in the way he did it reminded me of something, but I couldn't
place it.
THE CONSERVATIVE LITERARY REVOLUTION.
JOIN OVER 6,000 ABOARD
THE WORLD'S LARGEST, MOST-FEARED LITERARY FRIGATE
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Send join jollyroger to jolly...@jollyroger.com
THE JOLLY ROGER-- To be featured in the upcoming AMAZING WEB PAGES.
Go here. Do not pass go. Whatever your tastes or politics, it's
tough not to enjoy this smart-alecky, skillfully written and
provocative online magazine. Literary, generational and plain-old
politics take it on the chin from this threesome.
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
John Michael Scalzi, II (JSc...@gnn.com) wrote:
: In article <58g38u$f...@newz.oit.unc.edu>, dra...@email.unc.edu says...
: >Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
: Okay.
: There once was a hack named McGucken,
: Whose spamming was without compunction;
: He claimed it was "true"
: But all who read knew
: That his brain was not known to function.
: Or perhaps a haiku:
: Avast ye mateys!
: The Jolly Roger has leaks!
: Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh! Arrgh!
: Boy, THAT was easy.
: -----------
Drake Raft
Hey there scalzi. Here's another chance for you to lie.
THE JOLLY ROGER
http://www.jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
"Know ye that the less ye brown-nose, the more ye have a chance of
signifying something with yer life."-- Howard Roark or Drake Raft
or somebody.
Avast then me merry maties! Come and join the new culture where we read
the Great Books instead of watching MTV, and we strive to be like
Rush, Melville, Twain and Shakespeare rather than Oliver Stone, Dan
Rather, Bill Clinton, Dick Morris, George Stephenopolous, Sedyar
Yeahgallup, John Scalazi, and Larry King!
Be like a part of literary history aboard the first segment of
generation-x culture that's sailing completely free of yesterday's
outdated there-are-no-truths God-is-dead
man's-soul-can-be-reduced-to-a-science postmodern neon-philosophies!
Sign yer soul aboard the world's largest literary frigate! Aboard The Good
Ship we harbor a profound respect for the Classics, while endeavoring to
create new works in their rich context, like THE DRAKE RAFT FIELD TRIP.
We didn't wait for any washed-up acid-dropping editor's permission, but
like we just went ahead and did something cool which means something to
the sober mind. Know ye that the less ye brown-nose, the more ye have
a chance of signifying something with yer life. And yer welcome aboard
any time.
THE CONSERVATIVE LITERARY REVOLUTION.
THE WORLD'S LARGEST, MOST-FEARED LITERARY FRIGATE
THE JOLLY ROGER-- AS REVIEWD BY THE GLOBAL ONLINE DIRECTORY
The Jolly Roger
Go here. Do not pass go. Whatever your tastes or politics, it's
tough not to enjoy this smart-alecky, skillfully written and
provocative online magazine. Literary, generational and plain-old
politics take it on the chin from this threesome.
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Date: Wed, 01 May 1996 22:02:01 -0500
From: Riad Wahby <riad@>
To: bec...@jollyroger.com
Subject: The Beacon for Lost Mariners in the Seas of Politics
Ahoy JollyRoger!
As a freshman in high school I find your letter especially
enlighhtening. I find that the unfairness and incongruity imposed by
modern liberalism is being "eaten up" by people of my generation because
of class warfare and other social factors that, in my opinion, emulate
communism.
I'd like to personally thank you for the great letter that you
have created--I have a printed copy of every one that I have recieved
since joining the list. I'd also like to point out some interesting
lyrics that I think express the message that I agree with totally and that
you are trying to show in each and every one of your issues. They are
from a song by Coolio, a rapper, who says:
"Tell me why are we
so blind to see
that the ones we hurt
are you and me."
--(from Gangsta's Paradise, #3 on the Coolio Album "Gangsta's Paradise")
This is the question that I ask myself each time I am engaged in a
debate over politics and I am wondering if I am the only one that feels
the way I do--Conservatism is so obviously correct that we are "blind to
see" that liberalism (with a lower-case l) is bad for us and it hurts "you
and me".
and me".
This message also comes across in another way: Why is it that
liberals are so blind to the fact that handing out condoms to
schoolchildren is NOT the answer to our problems. The ones we are hurting
with our social programs, spending, and all other liberal
pseudo-intellectual crap are ourselves--we lessen our effectiveness and
endorse Paternalist ideals.
Therefore I'd like to sincerely congratulate you on, again, being
the one "lighthouse" in the night of liberalism.
Thank you once again,
Riad Wahby
To: mcgu...@jollyroger.com
Subject: Literature for the Future
I'm a mom of five bright children. I become depressed when I consider
the "higher learning" that awaits them. I felt a glimmer of hope when
I read your page. I'm one of the hardliners that read most of the
classics as a young person...because I wanted to read them. The sheer
beauty of fine writing has followed me all the days of my life...
Notes of interest: The libraries are filling the shelves with
children's books that are politically correct and multicultural.
They are robbing the kids of literary substance!
Extra Point: Check it out. Maya Angelou's poem "Where the Caged
Bird Sings" is snitched from a male Black writer in the early
1920's. I've seen the original in an old textbook.
Please keep working. The minds of my children need good nutrition!
Drake Raft
Dude-- does your wife know how much time you spend reading me? Does she
like it?
Subject: Re: www.jollyroger.com TOP TEN REASONS YOUNG NOWHERE-GOING LIBERALS (NIBERALS) HATE THE JOLLY ROGER
Newsgroups: alt.culture.jollyroger,talk.politics.misc,misc.writing,alt.society.conservatism,alt.fan.rush-limbaugh,alt.society.generation-x
Summary:
Keywords:
THE JOLLY ROGER
THE GRUNGESERVATIVE RENAISSANCE
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway.jollyroger.html
10. The young conservative is out on the streets. The young liberal is in
with the corporate/educational/editorial elites. Thus the young
conservative owns the wind, the rain, the laughter and the pain. The
young liberal is $hackled to their desk, fastened by their corporate
admini$trative a$piration$ to their $ervile rolls as propagators of the
power structure which is destroying the family, desecrating the Western
Heritage, augmenting the National Debt, rasing our taxes, and eroding our
God-given Freedom. Know ye the young liberals fear us because we are
free. (I got that from Easy Rider.)
9. While in the sixties being a liberal meant standing for principles,
smoking weed, and doing it with whoever and aborting it later on, today
being a liberal means smoking weed, listening to Beck, and brown-nosing
your feminist instructor so that she'll write you a letter of
recommendation so that you can work at AOL or somewhere, as some sort of
movie-reviewing-marketing supervisor or something. Young liberals hate us
for pointing these things out.
8. The crew of the Jolly Roger is admired by intelligent, pretty, and
pristine women, as evidenced by our jolly roger super model, Cathy from
Germany. http://jollyroger.com/supermodel.html I met her when I was
printing out THE DRAKE RAFT FIELD TRIP, and I gave her a copy, and she got
a kick out of it. It's easy to see that she's a lot cooler than all the
over-zealous feminists and sexually liberated cybersluts who bore the crap
out of me with all their pornography and insipid and outdated
sex-culture-eco-feminism books. Like I don't even like kissing on the
first date-- I mean it can all wait. Tennis is a good first date, or like
watching planes land or going to the beach for a day. Anyways-- Great
Literature, endowed with wisdom and wit, attracts the cool conservative
girls while all the superficial neon schlock gets you the run-of-the-mill
socialists who've already been there and done that. And that's the
reality that Ron Hogan is starting to wake up to, each and every morning.
7. The crew of the Jolly Roger understands physics and likes Rush
Limbaugh. The combination of these two aspects really freak John Scalazi of
AOL.COM out. It's like Science and Literature are never supposed to
mingle in the liberal mind. One of 'em is for like white European males
to build cars and things, and the other one is to be used by administrators
and resentniks to level the playing field.
6. If you found yourself reading everything written by cool people that
you hate, and thinking about it, and enjoying it, and responding to it,
and furthering their Noble Cause by demonstarting the requisite
insipidness of the contemporary young liberal, you'd hate them too.
5. THE JOLLY ROGER is the most successful, most-read, most-admired,
largest, and fastest-sailing literary frigate on the WWW. And what
really freaks the young liberals out is that we're just warmin' up, and
kinda gettin' a feel for this wonderful new medium. I mean like at least
we have a dream. And we didn't get it from Columbia House.
http://jollyroger.com/response.html
4. Some of the more perceptive young liberals are figuring out that they
have been defeated by our Maverick Strategy of Speaking The Truth.
Because we are ardent fans of the Truth and God, we were the first to
recognize that one of the most profound aspects of the WWW would be the
literary revolution that would take place on it. I mean like it's about
time our generation does something cool. Like Douglas Coupland was
presented to us 'cause he signed a pact with the liberal editorial elite
in which it was written "On my honor I promise to say my generation has no
identity, to never criticize anything Liberal, to not notcie that the
family has broken up because of liberalism, nor shall I ever develop
memorable characters with morals like Huck Finn, Holden Caufield,
Yossarian, Howard Roark, Hamlet, Socrates, nor Drake. Because I
understand and accept that mythical representations of character,
morality, and integrity in literature tend to awaken these attributes in
the reader, I hereby promise to refrain from including them. I understand
that if I abide by these liberal nihilistic standards, and say nothing,
you will make me the voice of a generation." Because we are in tune to
the more subtle things in life than are the pornagraphic
Ron-Jesse-Garon-Hogans, we are able to serve the people in a sublime
manner, by exalting their spirits with the truth artistically rendered.
Know ye that we shall forever own the spirit of the WWW's literary
revolution, for it has been over a year, and there are no other sails on
the horizon. The Scalazis and Serdars and Garrons and feminists have
spent a year bitchin' and complainin', in the typical liberal fashion,
rather than launching a literary frigate of their own. Patrick Farley at
least made some cool graphics to go along with his See The Jolly Roger Go
Down In Flames Page, but like the rest of you are arm-chair critics who
were taught that literature is not to be Created, but it is to be
Administered. There's this question that I don't even bother asking.
It's just too easy and too boring to ask the Scalazis, and too obvious. It
is so obvious that asking it will probably lose me half of my audience.
Like if you know so much about literature, why don't you stop talking
about it and do it? Why don't you entertain and exalt people with words,
and start a literary frigate and get a few thousand subscribers to the PMS
Scalazi?
3. We're making the young liberals' $40,000 degrees in feminist
brown-nosing hand-waving reality-creating truth-doesn't
exist-slander -conservatives- say-anything-it's
all-politics-destroy destroy destroy-destroy-destroy- destroy-and
destroy- language-God -and the Truth so-that-the-mediorce-can-
administrate techniques worth about forty bucks.
2. 'Cause they know I saw the setting sun reflected in her Carolina Blue
eyes last Saturday, somewhere on teh border of Virginia.
1. The Truth is beautiful.
THE JOLLY ROGER
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway.jollyroger.html
Drake Raft
Scalzi-- does your wife know that you're a liar? Does she know that you
once accused me of forging email? Did you ever tell her that you've
accused me of writing my own fan mail? Really-- she deserves to know your
true liberal-slackademic-postmodern-there-are-no-truths-editorial core.
Do you lie to her too? Or do you only lie in your professional life,
unlike Clinton? Does lying get you off? Does your wife like it? Does
she respect you for it? "Hey there honey-- I lied today for you on the
usenet. I told some lies about the World's Largest Literary Frigate. I
said Drake's a spammer, and I made it rhyme. I'll get those conservative
wackos for doing something consrtuctive and creating that which is
appreciated by thousands. I'll lie, if that's what it takes, honey,
because you know that I'm a sensitive liberal feminist, and I'll do what
it takes, as a movie critic, to defend our postmodern faith. Are we going
to your parent's or mine for Christmas? Good-- I like your mother. See
honey? I said I'd do whatever it takes. By the way-- did I ever tell
you how much time I spend reading Drake Raft? I wonder how many people
signed aboard The Jolly Roger today, and I wonder how many did it because
they saw one of my posts concerning The Good Ship's Royal Greatness?"
ARGRHRHRGR! A beautiful weekend it was in Chapel Hill! Even though it's
raining right now, but hey-- the rain's cool too. Last night was the
perfect June night for a ride through the Carolina countryside with the
top down. A friend and I drove up to the deserted Duke University campus
and just sat on a bench and talked 'til about 2 AM. It was totally cool,
and I highly recommend it. Especially if she's totally pretty.
THE GRUNGESERVATIVE LITERARY REVOLUTION
"We like the music, but we don't do the drugs."
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Send join jollyroger to jolly...@jollyroger.com to sign aboard!
The Jolly Roger is proud to not only be that largest literary publication
out of Chapel Hill, but it is also proud to be the largest literary
frigate in the world. We're happy to be serving over fifty countries
with Great Literature.
It is no coincidence that the WWW's most successful literary journal is
fabricated from planks of a conservative ideology, for all the frigates
built with the liberals' "words don't mean anything" philosophy don't
float. The resentniks will buoy 'em up with your tax dollars in the form
of NEA and NEH grants, but you can't pray a lie, even though the Sedyars
of the world will ceaselessly try. They ought to read up on the bible,
and then perhaps they'd realize that Cain was a sinner. I mean it's like
liberals are preparing for a naval battle by holding a conference in a
tax-funded hot-tub where they float paper boats and talk about how best to
write the legislation which will get them the money they'll need to build
a battle ship. What Roger's crew did is we just went right ahead and
built an aircraft carrier.
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Recently an article was picked up by the renowned journal DEOLOG which has
a print run of over 24,000. DEOLOG is an independant publication with no
ties to any religious or political groups. It's distibuted at
universities, places of worship, and businesses throughout New York and
California.
The article, part one of Mission Sacred Divinity, can be read in its
entirety at
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jr17.html
Here are some excerpts from the original piece:
Ahoy Black Hawk, House Plant Spanner, Terrible Ted, and Zachary B. Taylor!
Rig the sails to the truth's raging wind and weigh the anchor say I! Fire
the Western Canon as we sail forth, and may the resounding shot awaken the
moral imagination of this generation! It has been trampled upon,
corrupted, drugged, ravaged and denied it's Right to Life by the dervish
liberals and soulless advertising executives who have plundered the
publishing and educational institutions which were originally instituted
to protect and propagate the Permanent Things.
As the late Russel Kirk stated in the introduction of THE PERMANENT
THINGS:
"Another cause of literary decadence has been the centralization of
writing and publishing, which has tended to reduce diversity and
discussion in the realm of letters, has put powerful influence into the
hands of very small circles of writers, reviewers and publishers, has
ignored the literary interests of the great part of this population, and
has forced those outlanders to conform their tastes to the notions
prevalent in the literary capital. In these United States, the hegemony of
New York literary circles and publishing firms is nearly absolute. T.S.
Eliot said once that the worst form of expatriation for an American writer
is residence in New York City. Yet it is New York's book reviews in major
newspapers and magazines that determine the fate of nearly every new book
published in this country. A major reason why the writings of nihilists
and people possessed by the diabolic imagination sell well is that the New
York book-review media consistently puff up such books and authors,
apparently on principle, in part, a principle politically perverse."
We aboard THE JOLLY ROGER contend that the printed word, and thus
literature, reside at the root of culture. A decadent literature will be
reflected in a decadent culture. In the same way that liberals claim
character is of no significance in a President, so too is character
impossible to discern in their neon Novels. By the written word we
establish justice, by the written word we define character and moral
behavior, and by the printed word we acquaint ourselves with God. Thus to
say that words are meaningless, and to enforce this point of view upon
college campuses, is to deny the celebration of the Great God absolute.
And being that God is, "the centre and circumference of all democracy," to
deny God is to deny freedom.
It's not just that liberals are unable to write Great Literature, or that
they don't want to, but their primary objective is to prevent Great
Literature from reaching the people. Like the Biblical woman who would
rather have the baby cut in half rather than see it in the possession of
its rightful mother, the liberals would prefer that literature did not
exist. There is a reason for the liberal's abhorrence of the fundamental
vessel of Truth. There is no better way to maintain power, as President
Shapiro of Princeton well knows, than to muddy the waters, deceive the
people, and obfuscate reality to such a degree that the moral,
conscientious individual will feel repulsed and alienated, thus leaving
the nihilistic elite alone to perpetuate their power structure. By having
become so adept at this treacherous technique, liberals have ensured that
liberalism now possesses an unparalleled ability for self-propagation. By
writing and publishing pornographic, debased, nihilistic books that nobody
reads, the feminist is accomplishing several feats simultaneously. She is
making it harder to find good literature in the book store, she is
redefining literature so as to ensure rational people won't be inspired to
spend time contemplating it, and she is ensuring that her disciples will
be those who are attracted to professions but for the debased politics
alone. Thus the liberal agenda and institutionalized nihilism is
propagated, and 'tis why we say that as far as a liberal is concerned, it
is not important what gets written-- just as long as nobody reads it, and
that the author possesses an appropriate gender or sexual orientation.
Liberals buried the Greats and intentionally write books that suck, so as
to atrophy the Will to Read. And as the printed word wanes, so too does
the device which introduces the student to their moral imagination. The
academic liberals scramble for funds to finance programs that execute the
student's ability to think at a more fundamental level, with the hopes
that the student will resort to watching MTV to find out from heroin
addicts who one has to vote for to be cool. And MTV tells them to vote for
Clinton, because they can count on his administration to tax the people
and fund more liberal programs aimed at atrophying the young moral
imagination. And thus the vast amounts of money the liberals make by
tempting children of the world with indecency and pornography will
continue to pour in. As Elliot once wrote:
"Ahoy! Liberals strip kids down for ads, sell us pornographic nihilism to
erode our souls so we don't notice that feminist professors are destroying
the peaks of culture, thus eradicating the Way by which one might climb up
out of the postmodern fog. And the feminists destroy the peaks of higher
culture, making it ever more difficult to climb out of the postmodern fog,
so as to ensure that we remain numb to the fact that we have no
alternative to the alternative, nihilistic crap which the corporate
liberals erode our souls with. And the corporate liberals erode our souls
with their substance-inspired fog so that we won't notice that the
resentnik feminists are eradicating the peaks of our intellectual
heritage. Ahoy! This generation is assaulted on all sides I say! Thus this
generation enters into Holy Matrimony being told, Heads it shall prevail,
and Tails it won't. 'Tis a conspiracy so immense, 'gainst eternal love!"
But do not despair, for the reason why the liberals will ultimately fail
at their conscienceless campaign for power is the same reason why Marxism
never succeeded. At the base of each man's soul lies the notion of God.
And that is why the liberals are today being defeated, for though they can
tear down the external culture, and bury all the Great Books, it is far,
far more difficult to conceal a man's soul from himself, although that is
what liberal education is presently all about. I say God is resilient, and
as this generation matures we shall seek to assume the Divine
Responsibility of Adults. Ahoy! We sail forth upon the WWW to introduce a
generation to its moral imagination! And the Good Fight has just
commenced, me merry maties!
cccli.
Her softest expression caught in street light,
Wistful brown eyes, perceptive smiling mouth,
So warm for a first of December night,
Wispy clouds blew by-- sky winds from the south.
She has become something special to me,
In the way things were special yesterday,
When in a girl's face I saw but beauty,
And I could believe in the words I 'd say.
Oh but I became lost, drowned in the void,
It's hell to see but evil in a rose,
But there's something 'bout her, by which I'm buoyed,
There's an essence to her, more than a pose.
She touched me, I knew it would be alright,
My life was saved again on that starless night.
The ramifications of over fifty years of the liberally-led downward
cultural spiral has been the placement of socialist nihilists at the helms
of the presses and universities of this nation. And this has resulted in
the overall debasement of culture which affects all of us on a daily
basis. Even Harold Bloom, author of the Western Canon, erred in his
assertion that literature is ultimately an utterly useless thing. He
stated that literature exists but for aesthetic pleasure and
entertainment, and that it is wrong to view it as a source of moral
principles and platitudes. 'Tis not so. Great Literature embodies Great
Morality. For the creators of the Bible, from Moses to Amos to Jesus to
Matthew to Mark to Luke to John were all inspired by moral divinity. Bloom
states, "I am your true Marxist critic. . . I have been against, in turn,
the neo-Christian New Criticism of T.S. Elliot, and his academic
followers. . . and even more dubious moralities of the literary Canon." Ye
are a morbid individual, Harold, for in the opening of yer acclaimed book,
ye write a chapter entitled, "An Elegy for the Western Canon." Who gave
ye, a mere Marxist, the Authority to declare Dead that which Thrives in me
Eternal Soul!? Granted that the Canon is not being taught in the Academy,
but this signifies the death of the Academy, for the Canon is Immortal. Do
not confuse today's teacher's of the law with the Great God absolute! Ah
Harold! Are ye so quick to dismiss literature as an utterly useless thing
because ye yerself never created any? If ye don't feel the urge to express
the word of God, does that give ye the right to declare that God no longer
exists? It would seem that for the liberal this would be so. As for me, in
addition to hearing a man comment on what he thinks life meant to other
men, I would also like to hear what life meant to the man himself. And I
say that Harold Bloom's academically ubiquitous attitude has contributed
to the decline of the intellectual institutions of this nation. For he
himself laments that the career he enjoyed could not be pursued today, as
the resentnik culture has made the study of the Great Books impossible!
And where was ye, Mr. Bloom, when the feminist was attempting to murder my
soul in the creative writing class? Why were ye so content to let it die?
Instead of behaving like a religious bigot and discriminating against T.S.
Eliot because he was a Christian, ye would have done well to contemplate
the deeper significance of T.S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral:
Those who put their faith in worldly order,
Not controlled by the order of God,
In confidant ignorance, but arrest disorder,
Make it fast, breed fatal disease,
Degrade what they exalt.
Ahoy! Why did not the Marxist critic go to China or the Soviet Union to
pursue the career of a Marxist critic? Avast me maties-- this glaring
hypocrisy will only be reported aboard this Fine Frigate, for aboard this
deck we're not landlocked by liberalism's mountainous fallacies! To be
hired at a University, all ye liberals have to do is demonstrate
proficiency in hate towards some embodiment of Greatness! And Ahoy Bloom!
Dost ye pass judgment on me for stating that literature should be read and
taught with a moral purpose in mind? Ah yes, ye do, Captain Bloom! Ye
think ye are above me, in all your pedantry. Then ye too possess a
morality of yer own, which is rooted in the critic's snobbery, stating
that the critic's amorality should be held in higher esteem than the
artist's morality! Defund the liberal left academics, say I! For even
while appearing to serve greatness, ye are yet desecrating it!
Argrgrhrhrgrgrrhrgh!
But me faith is imperishable! For I think upon the moral Melville. Can ye
yet see Melville diligently laboring on BILLY BUDD after MOBY DICK had
been published and ignored by the literary experts of the day? Deep down
within the liberal critic is ashamed and embarrassed to receive a salary
to offer frivolous commentary on such holy scriptures as MOBY DICK, yet
their immense liberal ego prevents them from humbling themselves before
Greatness. And the Bible perpetually says unto the liberal critic: "Woe to
ye, teachers of the law and Pharisees, ye hypocrites! Ye build tombs for
the prophets and garnish the sepulchers of the righteous. Ye say, 'if we
had been in the days of our fathers, we would not have been partakers with
them in the blood of their prophets.'" Ahoy! Ye write immense books on the
Western Canon, and simultaneously abandon the moral context in which the
Canon was written, and the moral aspect by which it was inspired. For the
enduring significance of Twain's, Shakespeare's, Melville's, and Conrad's
work is the fact that within it the moral character is enshrined in words.
The language derives its beauty from the subject. Tell me Bloom, that
Hamlet did not possess a moral conscience, nor did Ishmael, nor did
Huckleberry Finn, nor did Lord Jim, nor did Socrates, nor did Jesus, and
ye shall be a liar. The immortalization of the moral character is the
unifying aspect of all Great Literature.
Was Captain Melville out there petitioning the government for more money
to create, or writing eulogies for the Western Canon? Was he complaining
of oppression and discrimination or soliciting funds to offer his opinion
on other people's opinions? Nay! He was too busy serving God!
Matuse
In article <58l28g$3...@newz.oit.unc.edu> dra...@email.unc.edu (Drake Raft) writes:
>"Know ye that the less ye brown-nose, the more ye have a chance of
>signifying something with yer life."-- Howard Roark or Drake Raft
>or somebody.
Pretty pathetic when you get your quotes mixed up with a fictional character.
>Avast then me merry maties! Come and join the new culture where we read
>the Great Books instead of watching MTV
Oh, "instead of watching MTV" from someone who idolizes (publicly and
repeatedly) Beavis&Butthead.
Self-consistancy Elliot, the hallmark of a good writer. How unsurprising
that you have none.
--
"I accept"
"To accept is to yield"
"To yield is to allow oncoming traffic the right of way"
Matuse
In article <58l1un$3...@newz.oit.unc.edu> dra...@email.unc.edu (Drake Raft) writes:
>Scalzi-- does your wife know that you're a liar? Does she know that you
>once accused me of forging email? Did you ever tell her that you've
>accused me of writing my own fan mail?
Geeze, I tell you this on a regular basis, and not one single response
*sniff* I am like...so BUMMED.
Elliot, you snot, why do you continually forge email to yourself?
Why do you insist on conjuring up fan mail to make up for the fact that
you don't get any?
Charles N. Ede
: --- Kristine Blauser Scalzi
I hope that the teredos get through the planks and the bottom rots out.
But, please always keep the Jolly Roger on your masthead, It will save
me that time that would be wasted reading your _______.
But, I'd rather have read a thinker
even if he's a stinker
as long as he is original.
Charles
Poet, Pilot and Philosopher
who still
admires the Lone Ranger
who had ideals and character
and allowed all legal rights.
Drake Raft
Avast! Call me at 11 PM EST Sunday December 15th on The Allan Handelman
Show! 1-800-rocktalk (www.handelman.com)
THE JOLLY ROGER
THE WORLD'S LARGEST, MOST-FEARED LITERARY FRIGATE
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Send join jollyroger to jolly...@jollyroger.com
Avast! The other day some girl who's a fan of the Roger sent me a xeroxed
copy of some pages from her journal, and in it I was quoted just above
Jane Smiley and Barbara Kingslover.
"I would still believe in her until I found her."-- Drake Raft
There was another quote, too.
"Towards a generation that has grown weary of the gender wars and is
awakening to the fact that it isn't that all men are lame, nor that all
women are lame, but rather that women and men are the same in that they
both want to be honored for their characters, respected for their
virtues,
and told the Truth."-- Drake Raft
It kinda sucks for John Scalzi and AOL that he thinks this girl is an
idiot. Because I got another another letter via snail mail from a young
lady, and in it she said,
"To Becket-- Hi I just got through reading the first two paragraphs of
HURRICANE RISING OFF HATTERAS. I haven't read any further and maybe I
should before I respond, but I had thoughts hit me so fast and so hard. .
.I simply couldn't wait.
"And you're right. OK I'll say it again-- you're right, you're right,
you're right! One particular phrase made it all crystal clear for me:
".
. .and so too does caring take far more strength than indifference." And
I just wanted to kick myself because I used to know that-- I used to
believe that. So there we all were, gathering in the women's studies
section of the bookshop, thinking we were empowering ourselves. Our
motto, 'sustained by truth and hate.' We thought we'd be safe if only
we'd cease to care."
And I know a lot of you young liberals, like Ron Hogan Jesse Garon, enjoy
pornography and nihilism, but this isn't true for everyone, and I believe
that children have the right to grow up in a world unpolluted by the sex
and violence which is incessantly pumped into this culture by the
liberal administrators and those who seek to brown nose them. And so does
this dude, who's like a sixth grader.
Date: Mon, 09 Dec 1996 15:51:05 EST
From: Robert <----@juno.com>
To: bec...@jollyroger.com
Subject: ahoy! our spy ship has returned!
i just wanted to say that, once on the internet i did a webcrawler search
and found this page. i signed up to it, but only have recently read a
full issue. i previously was at stuart---------------, but have begun
using a new address, i just checked in on stuart.edmonds and found some
mail from the jollroger and signed my new account (---@juno.com) up for
some salty fresh air...
well, as the spy ship has returned, i may be one of a handful of kids
down here in elementary school in the southeast that know the definition
of the word MORAL. avast! our generation (of elementary school kids) are
obsessed with nike, demoralizing others, and 69. yes, thats right. i have
to put up with this ******** down here...
aye aye,
robert
AVAST THEN! It are responses like these that have made me the best-paid
author on the WWW. These cool people far outnumber the whining liberals
on the usenet. Like the times are changin' dudes, and like sincereity,
compassion, morality, and Truth comprise that which the rising
generations shall value the most in this postmodern void.
Matuse (mat...@netcom.com) wrote:
: In article <58l28g$3...@newz.oit.unc.edu> dra...@email.unc.edu (Drake Raft) writes:
: >"Know ye that the less ye brown-nose, the more ye have a chance of
: >signifying something with yer life."-- Howard Roark or Drake Raft
: >or somebody.
: Pretty pathetic when you get your quotes mixed up with a fictional character.
: >Avast then me merry maties! Come and join the new culture where we read
: >the Great Books instead of watching MTV
: Oh, "instead of watching MTV" from someone who idolizes (publicly and
: repeatedly) Beavis&Butthead.
: Self-consistancy Elliot, the hallmark of a good writer. How unsurprising
: that you have none.
: --
Drake Raft
Avast! Call me at 11 PM EST Sunday December 15th on The Allan Handelman
Show! 1-800-rocktalk (www.handelman.com)
THE JOLLY ROGER
THE WORLD'S LARGEST, MOST-FEARED LITERARY FRIGATE
http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/jollyroger.html
Send join jollyroger to jolly...@jollyroger.com
Avast! The other day some girl who's a fan of the Roger sent me a xeroxed
aye aye,
robert
Matuse (mat...@netcom.com) wrote:
: In article <58l1un$3...@newz.oit.unc.edu> dra...@email.unc.edu (Drake Raft) writes:
: >Scalzi-- does your wife know that you're a liar? Does she know that you
: >once accused me of forging email? Did you ever tell her that you've
: >accused me of writing my own fan mail?
: Geeze, I tell you this on a regular basis, and not one single response
: *sniff* I am like...so BUMMED.
: Elliot, you snot, why do you continually forge email to yourself?
: Why do you insist on conjuring up fan mail to make up for the fact that
: you don't get any?
: --
Robert Maughan
Extracted ..Drake Raft <dra...@email.unc.edu> writes
>So to be
>properly educated these days is to be a moral and intellectual nihilist.
I agree but the dichotomy exists only if you are auto-didact and you
appear to be enjoying the fruits of a proper education. I did so too
yet I am a moral and intellectual optmist.
Your punctuation is excellent by the way but I disapprove of grandiose
indents, fucks up the appearance of a page, I find; no doubt a properly
educated editor will point this out when you come to publish.
--
RJM.
D. Braun
On 12 Dec 1996, Dave Scocca wrote:
> In article <58g38u$f...@newz.oit.unc.edu>,
> Elliot McGucken <dra...@email.unc.edu> wrote:
>
> \ Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
> \ Get off your liberal-socialist-critic's ass, and Create something which
> \ Signifies Something.
>
> I don't get it.... since when does one have to be able to write great
> literature in order to be able to identify and appreciate it....
Did you see my review? I notice that it has been cut out of all follow-up
postings after his poem. Sounds like he wants his writings to remain free
of criticism, and preserve the fiction that the are as good as he says
they are.
Dave Braun
>
> I go to the Dean Dome for a game... I say to myself, "that Antawn
> Jamison, he certainly does know how to do amazing things with a
> basketball without having to have his feet on the ground." I say to
> myself, "why does Shammond Williams keep bouncing the ball off his
> foot?"
>
> Now--are these valid judgments? Should I have to work on my offensive
> rebounding and on breaking the press before I can judge the basketball
> capabilities of Antawn and Shammond?
>
> Stop bouncing the literary ball off your foot all the time, Elliot.
>
> D.
> --
> * The Minstrel in the Gallery http://sunsite.unc.edu/scocca/ *
> * D. A. Scocca (sco...@gibbs.oit.unc.edu) "Heteroskedastic" *
> * "My love does not, cannot _make_ her happy. My love can only *
> * release in her the capacity to be happy." --J. Barnes *
>
>
Dave Scocca
\ Hey there Scalazi-- I'd like to see you try to top this immaculate poem.
\ Get off your liberal-socialist-critic's ass, and Create something which
\ Signifies Something.
I don't get it.... since when does one have to be able to write great
literature in order to be able to identify and appreciate it....
I go to the Dean Dome for a game... I say to myself, "that Antawn
brian artese
Wow ... I've never seen the term 'postmodernist' used so often --
countless times! -- from somebody who doesn't really seem to know the
first thing about it.
Here are some writers often called 'postmodernist': Jacques Derrida,
Michel Foucault, Gilles Deleuze, Judith Butler, Paul de Man, Jean-F
Lyotard, Donna Haraway, Louis Althusser ... just to name a few.
Since you use the term 'postmodernist' with such frequency and
authority, surely you can quickly give me a quotation from one of these
people that shows their allegiance to the idea that 'there is no
meaning' or that 'there is no reality' or that one cannot distinguish
true statements from false ones.
In fact, I will, on my honor, send you a crisp $50 bill if you can
produce a single one.
-- brian
John Raley
In article <58l1at$3...@newz.oit.unc.edu>, dra...@email.unc.edu (Drake Raft)
wrote:
>
> 10. The young conservative is out on the streets. The young liberal is in
> with the corporate/educational/editorial elites.
This confirms my suspicions: you really DON'T have a job, do you, Eliot?
How many jollyroger.com tee's are you going to have to sell before you can
pay your parents back for supporting your lazy ass all these years?
Slacker. Get a job.
(From an employed, liberal, Gen-Xer.)
--
John Raley
jraley at taligent
"I have come to give myself up on account of I cannot fight
no more against such genius." - B. Bunny
Watson Aname
In article <KXOPTKBi...@etymon.demon.co.uk>, r...@etymon.demon.co.uk
says...
>
> Extracted ..Drake Raft <dra...@email.unc.edu> writes
>
>>So to be
>>properly educated these days is to be a moral and intellectual nihilist.
[snip]
> Your punctuation is excellent by the way but I disapprove of grandiose
>indents, fucks up the appearance of a page, I find; no doubt a properly
>educated editor will point this out when you come to publish.
For the sake of Drake make his editor humane when he comes to publish,
else he get what he deserve, if such pomposity may be properly repaid.
Watson Aname
David Swanson
In article <32AFB3...@nwu.edu>
brian artese <b-ar...@nwu.edu> writes:
> In fact, I will, on my honor, send you a crisp $50 bill if you can
> produce a single one.
This can be taken with a bottle of grain. Brian already promised me
his upperlip and I have yet to see it.
David
"Why, from Socrates downwards, philosophers should have vied with each
other in scorn of the knowledge of the particular and in adoration of
that of the general, is hard to understand, seeing that the more
adorable knowledge ought to be that of the more adorable things, and
that the THINGS of worth are all concretes and singulars." W. James
brian artese
David Swanson wrote:
>
> In article <32AFB3...@nwu.edu>
> brian artese <b-ar...@nwu.edu> writes:
>
>> In fact, I will, on my honor, send you a crisp $50 bill if you can
>> produce a single one.
>
> This can be taken with a bottle of grain. Brian already promised me
> his upperlip and I have yet to see it.
It's imn the mnail...
-- briamn