HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: jondarr@macadam.mqcs.mq.oz.au (jondarr c g h 2 gibb)
Subject: Essence
Organization: Macquarie University, School of Mathematics, Physics, Computing and Electronics
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 23:39:39 GMT

Note from Lizzy & jondarr :

This poem comes from both of us, really, so you can send any
comments you may have to either of us and we'll sort it all
out from this end. This is probably the first time that we've
rhymed together.


        Essence

I need some time to think,
to plan, to feel my way
around this place, to ease
the guilt, to understand
the nuances that cross 
your face; so just leave me
alone awhile so I
can see beyond this short
term hopelessness and not
your smile, that web of lies
wherein I'm caught. I'm up
above that image now,
where nothing can impinge
upon my thoughts and dreams,
I know somehow that I
can never be alone.

That I will never be
unless I take this chance
to prove my place within 
these walls, this emptiness
that paints its essence on
my face and leaves no trace.

		20th August, 1992



<I wish I could duplicate Lizzy's .sig at this point, 
 but I can't remember it (sorry)>
Elizabeth Elinore Gulliver - s8701876@macgraw.mpce.mq.edu.au
jondarr c g h 2 gibb
<My address is at the end>
                    
              Anyway the wind blows ...
                                                //\         /\\
                             /                 || * \ . . / * ||
               .  _   _   _/  _   _  _          \\____\X/____//
              / /_/ / / /_/ /-/ /  /             / *  /O\  * \
          ._/                                    \__/  "  \__/

jondarr@macadam.mpce.mq.edu.au  (137.111.216.12)
jondarr@mpce.mq.edu.au
jondarr@macgraw.mpce.mq.edu.au

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: lilac sepia indigo
Date: 12 Aug 92 02:55:13 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel) writes:
> =
> 
> 
> 	lilac sepia indigo
> 	wizard shaman priest
> 	three moments of your time
> 	three spaces for three faces
> 	of the mood behind your mind
> 	each turns a different shadow
> 	each spells a different shade
> 	each made of gracious breaths of hair
> 	not taunted by abstain
> 	not tainted by refrain
> 	not tinted by explain
> 	just painted pale by rain
> 
> 
> -- 
> 
> Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)

I really like the way this poem reads.  Gracefull!

--
Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
uucp: gatech!warlord!bing!root               +---------------------------+
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: family binds, revised
Date: 12 Aug 92 04:36:43 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."


family binds

i'm always in a hurry.
even had to come out of my mom
a month before my time
and now i'm caught forever trying
to play catch-up.

it's impossible for me to convey
what it's like to have cerebral palsy;
my body feels non-integral
like an after thought glued on
to the rest of my being.

growing up i remember dusty dirt streets
rough kids caught in rough times
in a third-world country
with a junkyard for a playground
and me always sitting on a step
watching but not joining in
mom took real good care of me
kept me safe.

and now we live in America
my brothers
one went to MIT
now he works for a company
that makes weapons
the other brother went to Yale
now he's a would be writer
with schizophrenia
me and baby sister
we went to Emory
she's on the verge of finding herself
for about the third time
i'm still lost and clueless
i go head over heels these days
everytime i see a baby
some kind of a mid-life crisis they say
a crisis of singularity
i would guess.

conversations run funny in our family
we talk to our parents in english
and they answer back in korean
nothing ever gets lost
or if they do
nobody ever seems to notice.

between me and my sick brother
i'm affraid my parents have missed out
on the empty nest syndrone
they go from me to my brother back to me
constantly
it makes them feel weary
and me like i'm still six years old.

what is it about a family that binds so?
the more pain we cause each other
the tighter we bind.

my sister is moving away to Boston
next week
this time at least she told us
she was leaving
not like when she just ran away
i never blamed her for that
i just wish i could fly to the moon.

August 4, 1992
Bing H Bang

--
Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
uucp: gatech!warlord!bing!root               +---------------------------+
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: driving cars
Date: 16 Aug 92 12:39:10 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=


	driving cars is you
	all along all down
	this forever high way
	my house is perfect for you


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sfjr@wam.umd.edu (Sherri)
Subject: Hunting <revision of a poem posted long ago>
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Fri, 21 Aug 1992 12:50:38 GMT


Many thanks to all who gave me comments on this poem months ago, particularly
Posthumus O'Toole.


			Hunting

You can see he understands
by the way he whispers,
"Foxy,"
the way he pretends to bide his time,
slowly circling the bar
to appear besider her.
The tuft of reddish hair
that falls across one eye
does not obscure her vision.
He feels his body stiffen,
bristling warnings he does not heed.
He thinks he understands.

Fancying himself the hunter,
he rests beneath the blurred ease
of her smoke-filled gaze.
He is the fieldmouse she bats between her paws
then chooses not to eat.

When finally she leaves,
he is too drunk to notice.
She's marked her tree and left it.

She prowls around, slowed by vague sadness.
She dreams of a dinner that leaps forth to meet her,
the glint of moon on clashing teeth,
the blood across her chest,
the eyes that widen at the crack of the neck.



k

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: stedman@aludra.usc.edu (Ian D. Stedman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Soul  (crit ok)
Date: 20 Aug 1992 18:04:24 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: aludra.usc.edu

     The Soul
 
And if it is the soul of her that I should seek
Then I am entirely right in wandering past
Sniffing out the sweetest scent and the foulest reek
It is not five minutes since I stood here last.
For here I have captured the swiftest steed of all
And bound the stallion in vapors of ancient chain
Those thoughts and dreams and fantasies that rise and fall
And blaze with a freezing fire in the drizzly rain.
 
 
But this drizzle is filthy and black right now
And that fire is ever weeping from the skies
And I will not stand beside this horse's scowl
Soaking myself upon fantastic drunken lies
When I drop those dreamy chains and ditch my plunder
Leaving that stinking steed full freedom to roam
Then his mane will be still, his hooves will not thunder
But he'll be gone, five minutes on, and I will be alone. 
 
                                   IS'91
                      (dedicated to a white Type II)
From: stedman@aludra.usc.edu (Ian D. Stedman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Invective
Date: 12 Aug 1992 19:23:26 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: aludra.usc.edu

    Invective
 
Out of the gloom that covers me,
Black as a mine from shaft to shaft,
I blaspheme what gods must be,
With the flowers of my craft.
 
In the fell clutch of depression
I let it wash up over me
And use the foulest of expression
The diamonds of profanity.
 
Beyond my speech of curse and sneer
Looms the danger of the fate,
And all mankind that fears the fear,
Makes, and shall make, everyone hate.
 
It matters not how sweet the glade,
How gentle and kind the race
I am the Demon of my trade,
I am the master of disgrace.
 

                     IS`91
 
With most of the due respect to W. E. Henley
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: some cats slip
Date: 16 Aug 92 13:50:03 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

In article 18172@canon.co.uk, wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel) writes:

>	some cats slip, some cats slide
>	some just slither, some spin wide
>	some go splat, some go split
>	some go lick-lick, never quit
>	some sprawl flat, it's so ungainly
>	or crawl pat-pat, too timid, mainly

>	[Some omitted to please my news reader]

>	you haven't heard? why, every year
>	when winter's claws scratch out the year
>	cats too cool too chase mere mice
>	do secret things for fun on ice

>Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)

Yo, Funkee! RAPper's Scratchin' Cats Chill Out. MCs in the House.

[MCs = Muddy Claws]

-m.





p.s. Reminds me of the Goodies - "Tumbling Royals- Equestrian Show on Ice".
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: beds / Marie Coffin
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Sun, 16 Aug 1992 03:11:23 GMT


	beds
	---------------------------------------
	1.
	
	you sprawl everywhere
	and bask in space.
	
	i'm self-contained as a plum.
	
	so when i reach for you at night
	don't pull away --
	the rejection from which all rejections spring.
	
	2.
	
	this antique was tall enough
	to slide a steamer trunk under.
	its height gave an aura of majesty
	to pedestrian sex.
	
	3.
	
	now i'm headed for a bright room
	with no bed at all
	i think i'll like sleeping on the floor.
	
	let's choose the very middle
	an unkempt raft in this daft sea
	of new white carpet
	a little island
	we've got all of chicago 30 stories below
	in which to move.


Marie Coffin
August 15, 1992
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: mr. buchanan, you should have been born black
Date: 23 Aug 92 06:53:29 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

mr. buchanan, you should have been born black
most black people
wear their color on the outside
not on the inside
tainted by righteous hate.

maybe if you were black
you'd understand something about
tolerance
inclusion
and maybe you'd also understand
heterosexual baptist white pro-life
is not an exclusive description
of an american.

or maybe you should have been born gay
or homeless
or jewish
if you were a black gay jewish homeless person
i think you'd be an ok guy.

Bing H Bang
August 23, 1992

--
Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
uucp: gatech!warlord!bing!root               +---------------------------+
From: jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: some cats slip
Date: 14 Aug 92 22:25:28 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest)

Hey, Tom Wachtel... Are you Ken Nordine in another life?
Whenever I read your poetry I imagine it accompanied by the
soft beat of a snare drum, maybe a tenor saxophone...
:)

-- 

*jaguar woman*				words are not enough
[jaguar@netcom.com]			
[jaguar@ardath.slisp.cs.cmu.edu]	
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Kindness
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sat, 22 Aug 92 16:09:26 GMT


                                Kindness

Kindness surprises her
like a chid's smile
suddenly warming something
which used to be afraid
the glow travels
downward
from her chest to her toes
lighting up her sex
only in passing--
everything,
you see,
is included.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: john cage
From: sturner@vax1.umkc.edu
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 19:43:20 GMT
Organization: University of Missouri - Kansas City

In article <1992Aug13.152713.5369@u.washington.edu>, zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (jestem oczarowana) writes:
> 
> 
> for those of you who were having that john cage discussion,
> and don't watch tv or some such, i just heard that he died.
> 
> -r.


wow.  Do you have any newspaper articles or such you can exerpt?
sharon
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Spring1
Date: 20 Aug 92 13:08:40 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland


	Spring
	------

this morning the sun slapped my face
well before the alarm blew raspberries
snatched away my half-written dream
crumpled it and flicked it out the window
give it back you bastard, let me finish
pinned in bed by a sharp, snuggle-up chill
rise to silence, echoes, hot shower
i remember now. it's a new day.
my desk is tidy now. my life is tidy enough.
last night I made a hazardous pact
downstairs where my past is stored
three Tom Waits albums and the grand old bong
cleaned with care and ritual
gonna get maudlin, gonna get sleazy and bent
a comb, a dinner suit, a set of weights
gonna get fit, gonna lose the beard
keep polish on the shoes, space in the diary
gonna get astute - gonna go a-hunting
blow the dust off a ton of lust
gonna shoot up on spring fever.

				-Michael Norris.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Subject: Re: Haikus by Basho
Reply-To: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1992 15:00:51 GMT

In article <q03ml=b.jaguar@netcom.com>, jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head)
writes:
> 
> From Ann Atwood's "haiku-vison: in poetry and photography" --
> (haikus by Basho presented along with poignant photographs)

> A weightless balloon
> slips from the hand of a child--
> the wandering moon.

Basho with balloon 
please correct me if I'm wrong
anacronism

--
Frank Poduska                 frank@iastate.edu
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Re: that suspicious dead-again-alive-again character
Date: 15 Aug 92 03:18:15 GMT
Article-I.D.: hpfcso.7710536
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA

In rec.arts.poems, donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:

> 
> 
> Excuse me, Mr. Denelsbeck, but an O'Toole says whatever she likes.  More
> outbursts like that and the Dead will not be pleased, not one bit.

Take it from me (I have it), there is no pleasing the goddamned
dead.  So do not worry about it.  They cannot vote and they hold
no stock, so as long as they are not moving the crockery in the
kitchen, who the hell (ha)  cares what they think?

> 
> 
> Yours in Pluto,

Yours in Play Dough (tm) (Is the trademark symbol itself owned
by anyone?)


doug
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (jestem oczarowana)
Subject: Re: Haikus by Basho
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1992 19:09:55 GMT

 mtaranto@shearson.com (Mark Taranto) writes:
                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^
                 holy cow!  rabble!

no really, welcome mat out.  or welcome, M.A.T. ....
From: 78witherspoo@cuavax.dnet.cua.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: love and fences/ jtrue
Date: 12 Aug 92 13:51:43 GMT
Organization: The Catholic University of America

In article <4437@news.duke.edu>, jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (john) writes:
> -john 1992
> 
> (Title motif inspired by Mr. 78witherspoon.)
> 
> c/c/f welcome
> jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
_______________________________________________________________
John--

	I am flattered!  Tell me how this inspiration flashed across those
Blue Devil synapses of yours...

Love and good walking,

Tom Witherspoon

78witherspoo@cuavax.dnet.cua.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Sometimes
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sat, 22 Aug 92 15:55:01 GMT


                        Sometimes

Sometimes
I feel
anything
I have ever felt before
sometimes
I feel
something new
sometimes
I feel
nothing.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: Re: Results for _Flight_of_the_Narrator_ (an obscure defense)
Organization: The Land of Earthquakes (Southern Cal)
Date: Sat, 15 Aug 92 06:01:56 GMT


	Pardon my humble opinions, but this essay was a perfect
example of an interesting style of thinking about 'modern' poetry.

	1. As long as I [the poet] understand my poem, and this
	poem has personal meaning, that is all the poem needs.

	2. Because of (1), my poem can be completely obscure
	-- incomprehensible to anyone who doesn't have intimate
	details of my life.

	3. Because of (1) and (2), not only is an obscure poem
	ok, it is actually a reflection of the my personal style
	and quite intimate.

	4. If I can write a 100+ line essay to explain my poem,
	my poem must have deep meanings and connotations (never-
	mind that nobody else knows what they are).

	5. Therefore, although the poem does not communicate
	(which is an essential element of poetry), it is a good
	and meaningful poem.


Jennifer



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--What about this
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 16 Aug 92 20:28:35 GMT



                                What about this
                                (for She)

What about this
fact
love for you
so fierce in me
yes
I will take you away
out of the empty house
in which your semblance of a life
wends its way
through time only
no feeling
like a stage set
behind which lies
vacuity
we will have much work to do
together
much holding and touching to do
to bring you back to life
pull you back from that abyss of numbness
into which your existence is precariously leaning.
I have hold of your hand.
Help me take back the rest of you
that we may give you back to yourself.
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: An Eagle
Date: 14 Aug 92 02:59:56 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

In article 2a868afc@ohstpy.mps.ohio-state.edu, kernan@ohstpy.mps.ohio-state.edu () writes:




>			An Eagle


>		      Crisp.Crisp.
>		         Pop...
>			 ,Plunk.

>					PK

Delicately	Fried.

				-m.
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Re: that suspicious dead-again-alive-again character
Date: 17 Aug 92 14:44:56 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <7710536@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>In rec.arts.poems, donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:
>> Excuse me, Mr. Denelsbeck, but an O'Toole says whatever she likes.  More
>> outbursts like that and the Dead will not be pleased, not one bit.

>Take it from me (I have it), there is no pleasing the goddamned
>dead.  So do not worry about it.  They cannot vote and they hold
>no stock, so as long as they are not moving the crockery in the
>kitchen, who the hell (ha)  cares what they think?

My, but aren't you uppity, Captain Quarnstrom?  Mayhaps you will not be so
callous towards the dead when you join their ranks?  (which could be
sooner than you think, seeing as how dangerous Messianic work can be)

>> Yours in Pluto,

>Yours in Play Dough (tm) (Is the trademark symbol itself owned
>by anyone?)

Its Play-Doh (tm), you big Doh-Doh
>doug


Yours in Blue Dough,

The Ever Posthumous O'Toole

-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: mtaranto@shearson.com (Mark Taranto)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Haikus by Basho
Date: 12 Aug 92 18:01:26 GMT
Organization: Yale CS Mail/News Gateway


frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska) writes:

> jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head) writes:

>> From Ann Atwood's "haiku-vison: in poetry and photography" --
>> (haikus by Basho presented along with poignant photographs)

>> A weightless balloon
>> slips from the hand of a child--
>> the wandering moon.

> Basho with balloon
> please correct me if I'm wrong
> anacronism


> Balloons predate him
> They came later in the west
> You are corrected


Mark
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (jestem oczarowana)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: john cage
Date: 13 Aug 92 15:27:13 GMT
Article-I.D.: u.1992Aug13.152713.5369
Reply-To: zola@u.washington.edu
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle



for those of you who were having that john cage discussion,
and don't watch tv or some such, i just heard that he died.

-r.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: T.O.A.
From: kupixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu
Date: 14 Aug 92 11:50:55 CDT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Serces

In article <188@uiunix.ui.org>, donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:
> In article <14380@borg.cs.unc.edu> denelsbe@washington.cs.unc.edu (Kevbo) writes:
>>A strange collection, done very quickly.  Others may wish to try similar such
>>exercises.
>>	------------------------------------
> 
>>		Thought On Abortion

	As if two hours on a table
	Could erase daddy's shame,
	She walks home holding no one's hand
	But her own.

>>	------------------------------------
>>
>>		Tragic Old Amishman

	A cosmonaut emerges from the wheat and wreckage
	Confirming Einstein's law
	That travel through space is travel through time.
        The bearded farmer and his wife, both dressed in black,
	Rush to see what has changed their world.
	The butter browns.

>>	------------------------------------
>>
>>		To Only Amy

	She said she said
	A near-forgotten echo of the girl
	Who taught me lonliness in her arms
	And emptiness in her sheets.
	It's ten years later,
	And she's making me feel like I've never been born.

>>	------------------------------------
>>
>>		The Orange Apple

	A boy with no home, no world, no soul
	Easily chastized, easily ignored.
	It's not as easy as apples and oranges anymore
	When your daddy's black and your mommy's white.
	Or is it?

>>      -------------------------------------
>>
>>               Travelling over Australia

	Forty thousand years old,
	An old man remembers Alcheringa
	But never met Father Time.

c.j.
poet for the public domain
KUpixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu
From: denelsbe@washington.cs.unc.edu (Kevbo)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Incubation
Date: 18 Aug 92 18:58:53 GMT


		Incubation

	Surrounded by obscene ornamentation,
	I counter with a proposal of my own:
	"Fade away into ghostly gasps of fog,
	And maybe I'll forget I ever saw you."
	"That I doubt," purrs the succubus, through dazzling felines.
	"For this is my dream, not yours, and you are at my will."
	She stretches a perfectly taut leg, toes
	Brushing the crevices of a revolting bedpost.
	Hers is the sort of nudity that beds live for.
	I feel my will incinerate as she touches my belly
	And seeks a hardness.  We are soon throbbing together,
	Tableaux shifting chaotically 'round the mattress.
	As the coupling approaches oneness, I groan,
	"Why me?", for my body is not proportioned well for this task.
	She laughs in her delirium and crescendoes,
	"You silly m-m-mouse!  (Oh!)  You, you wiggle
	Your whiskers so, so (Oh!) poetically, but you,
	You lack the imag- (Oh!) imagination of a cat
	That wants out on (Oh!) on a rainy day.
	It tries every door (Oh!) l-looking for a dry
	World.  (Oh!)  Does that (Oh!) does that (Oh!) (Oh!)"
	At that point she is lost in incoherent rapture
	-- And so, I guess, am I...

-----------
Kev @ UNC
8/18/92
-- 
|| +------------------+  You Yankees are so silly 
||-| Kev @ UNC        |  About matters of the heart;
||-| Master Poetaster |  Don't you know that women are the only works of art?
|| +------------------+        -- Don Henley, "Drivin' With Your Eyes Closed"