HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: eabu135@orion.oac.uci.edu (Savinien)
Subject: forwards:  brazilian dream:  hymn
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Organization: the land of sam lowry 
Date: 31 Aug 92 23:20:04 GMT

Here's my version of forwards. . .(my apologies to mrx and the Cure)

lash
coxcomb
raffle
synodic

				*	*	*

     And so there stood the Great Lady, the beacon across the sea.  I was
trying not to look at her, trying not to hold her hypnotic gaze.  Mother.
She smiled directly at me for a second, and the whiteness of her long
billowing sleeve brushed my face, from over the ocean.  Purity.  Mother.
Child.  She was standing on that rocky peninsula, still.  She was radiating
warmth.  A warmth that caressed the rocks, the watchtowers, the deserted
streets, the bricks, the empty phone booths, the vacant storehouses. 
     Her whiteness could have reached the clouds, had she wished it so.  
     All stood before her, all looked up into the abysmal darkness to find 
the illumination of the synodic month.
				*	*	*
     Cold.  I lay in the alley, huddled between the corners of two grimy
red walls.  Mud splattered on boots and onto my brow.  I turned to face
the street.  The lights in the lampposts lazily flickered on, and sullenly
brooded under the midnight blue haze.
     "Hey."  The grey heap under the light was alive.  "Life's a fixed 
raffle.  Looks like you got the wrong numbers, buddy."
				*	*	*
     Irritation.
     "Look, can I talk to you about it tomorrow?  Okay?  Then you can tell me
all about whatever happened to you on the way to the city."
     Mirror, Miriam was standing in the doorway, in a scarlet bathrobe, the
weary veins bulging out of the whites of her eyes.  Even her lashes were
drooping.  I didn't think it was that late in the night, but maybe for her
it was different.
     Annoyance:  What are you doing here this time of night?
     I don't have the answer.  I thought you might.
     Good God.  This is ridiculous.  Go home, for goodness sake.
     I don't have anywhere to go.
     Yes, you do.  Now scat!
     "But I won't be here tomorrow.  Oh well.  Good night, then, Mirror."
     "Good night, and good-bye."
     Slam.
     Click.
				*	*	*
     The Great Lady was still staring out into the ocean.  I was numb, the
blue frost biting into my hands, but she was Warmth.  Unconditionally.  I 
lumbered toward her, an awkward, metallic machine rusting my ancient armor.
My living Sepulcher, in my Coxcomb.  Each step placed an unecessary strain
on my unjointed hinges, oxidized metal grating against oxidized metal.  God.
     And she--alive, aware of all presences, all of existence--turned
slightly, to face me with her unfathomable gaze.
     Hymn.  Hymen.  Human.  She was.  God and human.  She, the Glory, the 
Transfiguration, the Sun, the Stars, strange as angels dancing in the
deepest oceans.  Human.  Merely God. . .and Human!  I had known.  I had 
always known.  My joy was a poison, coursing through shocked, open veins.
The mind's eye sees that which the body's does not.
     And so I ran, naked, reeling, and mad.
From: aaiken@bronze.ucs.indiana.edu (Andrew C. Aiken)
Subject: Repost: Fidel Castro
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 15:03:33 GMT



Fidel Castro, Secretary of the Treasury, is giving his first 
press conference.

"I am happy to announce that many things are Up.
 Inflation is Down.
 The markets are Steady.

 Thank you."

Secretary Castro is on the golf course with the President.

"Good shot, sir."


Fidel Castro is wading in his swimming pool.  The pool is not
chlorinated.  It is stocked with goldfish.  They like to nibble on
his skin.  He lets them.  When he moves, they follow him.

Fidel Castro is a charter member of the Hair Club for Men.

Secretary Castro is riding in his limousine.  He orders the driver to
stop.  Something catches his eye.  It is a woman in red.  She comes
within inches of him, but he says nothing.  He likes red.

He and his wife are at the ball.  He is shaking hands with the 
Japanese Ambassador.  He notices the gun of a Secret Service Agent.
There are many guns in the room.  He thinks: I have never owned
a gun.

Fidel Castro is having a dream.

The weather is tropical.

He is in the courtyard of a dusty fort.

Around him are many soldiers. They all have guns.

They offer him a cigarette.  He refuses.

They offer him a blindfold.  He refuses.

Then, slowly, the guns are cocked and raised.
They are pointed at him. In the eyes of the 
Generalissimo, there is a twinkle.


Andrew Aiken

Newsgroups: alt.prose,alt.sex,alt.sex.stories
From: exs16@po.CWRU.Edu (Eugene Shumulinsky)
Subject: Yes, more Journal Entry requests....
Reply-To: exs16@po.CWRU.Edu (Eugene Shumulinsky)
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 92 16:13:12 GMT


	If possible, could someone either repost or E-mail to me the following
Journal Entries.  

0093.181      Starlight, Starbright, First Star I See My Life
0119.082      Healing the Dragon
0192.158      Travelling by Water
0265.070      Post-Partum Depression in the Male of the Species

	Thank you in advance....

-- 
   Nighthawkk   | "No one holds command over me.  No man.  No god.  No Prince.
       of       |  What is a claim of age for ones who are immortal?  What is a
 NIGHTMARE Inc. |  claim of power for ones who defy death?  Call your damnable 
                |  hunt.  We shall see who I drag screaming to Hell with me."
From: Judith_Beeman@mindlink.bc.ca (Judith Beeman)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: Dear RICHH
Date: 26 Aug 92 04:27:30 GMT
Organization: MIND LINK! - British Columbia, Canada
Distribution: world

Many fans, always an interesting sign. Now, I began readings your posts some
months ago (it had something to do with a house party and a semi truth-or-dare
sort of scene. I recall one scene about the teenster and her dog.)Since then,
obviouslly intrigued (!) I've read your stuff more often then not. Some of it
is dull, some pretty grand, "hot" if you will. Your recent piece about the
college virgin who stayed over was your best ever, IMHO. So how long have you
been writing online? Just curious. Do you have a day job? And ever hear of the
tremendous Canadian writer, Crad Kilodney? I somehow think you would get along
fine. Keep up the good work. Judith.

Judith_Beeman@mindlink.bc.ca
Newsgroups: alt.prose
From: coyote@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (cats)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: New experiences (coyote)
Date: 29 Aug 92 19:52:55 GMT
Organization: Purdue University Computing Center


          I would greatly appreciate any critiques/criticisms on this, as I plan to write a follow-up.  Thanks. -coyote
                  ****************************************

     I saw the ad in The Courier.  Professional bifemale seeks similar female for fur, friendship, more.  I skimmed through the rest of the personals, then came back to this one.
     As a female, I am entranced by my body.  I love to run my hand over my smooth, soft breast.  I trace concentric circles around my aeriole until I reach the nipple, hard and screaming to be touched.  I have often thought it is a pity that my tongue cannot reach that delectable little part of my body without some bizarre acrobatics.  I quickly brush my entire hand over the nipple.  A shudder courses through me.
     I like my stomach.  I tense my muscles, then slowlyfeel each taut muscles.  I have rarely found anything so relaxing as touching myself.  It is a shame that I have yet to find a man who understands the signifigance of soft touches, especially when a woman's body is craving much more brutal treatment.  Such sweet torment.
     At any rate, back to my story.  After I had finished with my paper, I put it in the container marked "Recycle Newsprint".  I do my part.  On my way to work, I thought more about the ad.  I am not a homosexual, I am too fond of the male anatomy and the pleasures it can bring, but there were times when I had thought that men do not really understand how a woman should be touched.  At least not in a way that would bring her maximum satisfaction.
     In the office things were slow.  The tutors and assisstants were sitting around discussing politics.  After I put in my two cents, I kicked back on the couch and let my thoughts wander.  I imagined meeting the woman in the ad, perhaps at The Sugar Shop in the Union Building.  I could see her, with light chestnut hair and warm chocolate eyes.  We would talk about her daughter.  Sweet kid, almost five.  She would be fascinated by my aspirations to become a writer, and would have several worthwhile sugge






stions on how I could get my foot in the door.  In turn, she would tell me about her career as a lawyer, and about her ex-husband who could not understand her need for a woman's love.
     I drift back to the office, brought out of my reverie by a question on Clinton.  "I agree whole-heartedly that a woman should be able to make her own choices regarding her body."
     Turning away from my collegues,  I think again of the chestnut-haired woman.  There is a warm feeling being nurtured in the very core of my body.  I take out a piece of paper and start writing my response.
Newsgroups: alt.prose
From: oconnell@vms.macc.wisc.edu (Kevin Patrick O'Connell)
Subject: Re: Debbie Does the Vatican
Organization:  University of Wisconsin Academic Computing Center
Date:  2 SEP 92 21:19:29    

In article <cosulliv.715456530@sfu.ca>, cosulliv@fraser.sfu.ca (Christina Marie O'Sullivan) writes...

>                       DEBBIE DOES THE VATICAN
> 
>			a piece of whimsy by Christina O'Sullivan
>			copyright by Spirit of Eden Productions
>  
>Philip glances briefly at them and stammers: Still, that moistened, cotton-
>blend generic men's undergarment scene by Miss Shields has got to be the 
>hallmark of her acting career.
> 
>Chad: Too true.  Those mammalian protruberances certainly stole the scene.

Hmmmm, a "Joe's Garage" fan, no doubt. 


>Philip: Rather brings out the concupiscence of the young male, does it not?

Not this one, I fear.  This read like parts of some script for "On the 
Air" that were rejected!  (A dreadful effort by Lynch et al.  I dunno how 
they sold it to the network . . .)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
From: tolman%asylum.cs.utah.edu@cs.utah.edu (Kenneth Tolman)
Subject: My life (107 words)
Date: 25 Aug 92 15:31:59 MDT
Organization: University of Utah, CompSci Dept
Distribution: alt


  I was hypnotized once, and they never brought me out.  Since then,
I live in a world where I don't have total control over my actions, I must
listen to and respond to subliminal signals.  They send them to me through
the radio, and the TV, telling me things to buy with sweet nice girls who
seem to want me if I will buy their product.  But also that too, that is from
the signals coming from my balls.  In fact everything I do, it has been
signalled to me from outside.  I wish that I was not hypnotized like this,
for who is really in charge?
Newsgroups: alt.prose
From: jamesh@netcom.com (James Hightower)
Subject: Great Expectorations
Date: Thu, 03 Sep 92 08:56:33 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 


Dear Single,

It's sad but true.  So many of us never find the one ideal, fully
satisfying relationship of our dreams.  And it is exceptionally
difficult for singles, such as yourself, that prefer to engage in
what is commonly referred to as 'deviant' sexual practices.

We're just not exposed to enough of the right kind of quality
singles.  We're locked into our work, our neighborhood, our
limited circle of friends.  And the busier we get, the less time
we have to look.  So, hoping for the lucky chance encounter that
so rarely occurs, we settle for whatever we may find in the local
bars and meat markets.  And lets face it, one night stands with
any drug-addled floozey/jerkoff who is twisted enough to follow
you home is just not good enough.

Megamatch offers you a better way.  Our Selective Video Profile
system, categorized by age, race, and preferred deviation, allows
you to screen, at your leisure, our extensive library of
attractive and eligible singles.  Our library is composed
exclusively of singles, such as yourself, who's unusual, and
possibly illegal sexual practices merit special consideration.

It's a terrific, totally safe way to meet new people.  Complete
privacy is guaranteed.  Your identity, and the identity of the
person you have chosen, remains confidential until both persons
agree to meet, a thorough background check and credit profile
have been performed, and a neutral meeting place has been
arbitrated.  Should the date go badly, or result in injury or
death, you need not ever see that person again.

The ideal mate/victim of your dreams--whom you might otherwise
never meet--is most likely waiting for you in our Video Library,
right now.

The important thing is to act right now.  That ideal mate could
find someone else tomorrow.  Without obligation, I urge you to
mail the enclosed application today!

Sincerely,



Dick Straight
President, MEGAMATCH










----------------------------------
copyright (c) 1992 James Hightower
-- 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
James Hightower		jamesh@netcom.COM 	...Don't try this at home!
From: jsnell@ocf.berkeley.edu (Jason Snell)
Newsgroups: alt.prose,rec.arts.sf.misc,rec.arts.sf.written,alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo,rec.arts.startrek.misc,misc.writing,rec.arts.books
Subject: InterText: Call for Submissions
Date: 3 Sep 1992 02:45:49 GMT
Organization: U. C. Berkeley Open Computing Facility
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: headcrash.berkeley.edu

InterText is an internationally distributed magazine of fiction. It is
published in both Ascii and PostScript formats. It is edited by
Jason Snell. And we're always looking for submissions and new subscribers!

For subscriptions, write to me (jsnell@ocf.berkeley.edu) and specify postscript 
or ascii. If you can FTP, that would be preferable: just send me mail
telling me you want to FTP, and I'll place you on a mailing list that will
notify you when the new issue is ready for FTPing.
 
Back issues (at least recent back issues) will appear for FTP on the
site: network.ucsd.edu. they also appear on ftp.eff.org, in the 
/pub/journals directory.

InterText is a network-distributed bi-monthly magazine. It's free, and
therefore pays nothing to anyone. It's published in both ASCII (plain
text) and PostScript (laserwriter) formats, and reaches over 1,000
readers in countries throughout the four corners of the globe.

Anyone can submit a story, regardless of age, race, gender, educational
status, corporate affiliation, etc.

Stories should be under 15,000 words, though exceptions to this rule can
be made.

All genres of writing are acceptable. We've published "mainstream"-style
stories, as well as far-out science fiction. I'd like to keep the magazine
as diverse as possible. Also, it must be original fiction -- no use of
copyrighted characters, i.e. Star Trek.

For a writers guide, mail me and ask. 

-Jason Snell
jsnell@ocf.berkeley.edu
-- 
  Jason Snell / jsnell@ocf.berkeley.edu / Cal Graduate School of Journalism
 InterText: A Net Fiction Magazine - ASCII or PostScript - Mail me for info!
            "I thought for a second that my monkey had rabies --
   It turned out he had just gotten into the Cool Whip." -- Dave Letterman
Newsgroups: alt.prose
From: goodman@chaos.cs.brandeis.edu (Marc Goodman)
Subject: My body
Organization: Brandeis University
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 08:07:29 GMT

For quite some time now, I have been noticing certain unusual changes
in my body.  The first occurrance of such a change was a day, several
years ago, when my left hand elongated.  Though not terribly unusual
in itself, the disquieting nature of this event was heightened by the
marked resemblance between that hand and a wolf's paw.  

A short time later, I became aware that the second toes on my right
and left feet had grown longer than the corresponding first and third
toes.  Coupled with an unusually large gap between the first and
second toes, the resulting effect was quite simian in nature.

Little tufts of hair have begun to sprout from my cheeks and the tip
of my nose.  Though I realize that facial hair in an adult male is by
no means extraordinary, the quantity and position of this hair seems
unusual.

I had begun to believe that my body was undergoing an elaborate and
protracted de-evolution.  This, in and of itself, did not bother me.
I have long been under the impression that human beings have perhaps
passed the evolutionary peak, Darwin notwithstanding, and that some
minor reversals could actually be beneficial.  My calm acceptance,
however, rapidly turned to dismay and foreboding as my teeth became
markedly pointier and more pronounced.  ``This will never do,'' I
thought to myself, ``My warm and understanding smiles have begun to
frighten small children on the street.''

The most recent manifestation of these changes has been a gradual
rearranging of my sleeping schedule.  After going to bed later and
later every night, I suddenly realized that I had become almost
entirely nocturnal.  Further, when I am forced by routine business
meetings to be up and about during the day, the light causes an almost
intolerable glare even on overcast days, in spite of my heavily
darkened sunglasses.  I am indeed fortunate that I conduct most of my
work at home.

My dietary habits have also changed.  Though never a fancier of fruits
and vegetables, my craving for red meat has greatly increased.
Further, the meats which I purchase at the local supermarket seem to
have an unhealthy odor as if they lacked in freshness.  Did I neglect
to mention that my sense of smell has also increased sharply?  Ah
well, I fear that soon I shall have no recourse but to search out
sources of fresher food.
From: drseuss@gorn.echo.com (David Bedno)
Newsgroups: alt.prose.d
Subject: Re: My Dinner With Herm
Keywords: story, short
Date: 21 Aug 92 17:51:35 GMT
Distribution: na
Organization: Tofu Vavohu

learnd@lafcol.lafayette.edu (Dave Learn) said: 
-
-     I shuffled to the door in defeat.                                         
-     "Dave."  It was Kissiah calling me.
-     "What?"
-     "Did you enjoy dinner?"
-     "Uh, yeah.  Thanks.  Uh . . . what was that meat we had?  It
-tasted kind of strange."
-     Again that evil smirk, that empty laugh.  Two words came from
-Kissiah's mouth, and with those two words, I knew the fate of
-Lafayette was sealed.  Two words destroyed my college world.  And
-the two words were "Roast Leopard."

Ummm...am I missing something here?  Or do you mean to imply that the 
death of the greek system is tied to the death of student protest?
The whole roast leopard thing confused me utterly.

And the death of the greek system; you say that as if it were a bad 
thing.  I don't understand.

						please explain

-- 
   David Bedno		   	            		drseuss@gorn.echo.com
     "but if i had my life to live over again, i would give dignity the
      regal razz and hire myself out to work in a brewery."  - a pharoh
Newsgroups: alt.prose.d
From: mfc1493@venus.tamu.edu (Ratboy)
Subject: Re: Speaking in a vacuum
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41    
Organization: Texas A&M University, Academic Computing Services
Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1992 01:22:00 GMT

>I once wrote a story of a terraformer machine returning to Earth after
>seeding a distant solar-system, only to find it empty with all mammals
>wiped out by a virus.  The story was of its development from an automaton
>into a sentient being, and finally of its decision to correct a perceived
>wrongess;  With a childlike persistency, it started to rebuild Earth, seek
>a way to make animals recreated from DNA-libraries immune, and ultimately
>to resurrect the race that had created it.
> 
>Whereas some friends of mine claimed they liked the story, I found it too
>simple and straightforward, and put it back to the dim recesses of my
>hard disk to wait for extensive rewriting in order to concentrate on
>the developing personality with more detail.  I liked the basic idea, but 
>in its present form, it's in my opinion one of the worst pieces I've ever 
>written. (Some consolation, hm? :))
> 

Sounds fascinating. I would love to read it. Original. Gonna post it when done?

Ratboy the One-Who-Needs-To-Quit-Reading-Alt.Prose-and-Write-So-He-Can-Post-
    Another-Story-Here

Newsgroups: alt.prose.d
From: ice@netcom.Netcom.COM (I. Chris English)
Subject: Re: RICHH:  NOT A SINGLE ONE
Date: Wed, 02 Sep 92 05:32:53 GMT
Organization: nope.  Just me.
Followup-To: alt.prose.d

In article <#4-n-+=.richh@netcom.com> richh@netcom.com (richh) writes:

	Was in Cleveland visiting that one saltgirl loredich creature. 
   We were slated to meet some other netters one night at this
   coffeeshop, called Arabica.

Wow.  He *was* in Cleveland.  I used to live across the street from
one of the arabica's.

Chris English.
Newsgroups: alt.prose.d
From: iota@agora.rain.com (David Friedman)
Subject: Re: RICHH:  TELL ME SOMETHING TO MAKE ME HATE YOU
Organization: Open Communications Forum
Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1992 06:07:31 GMT

Rich,

	I went out with her after this.  It was about 9 months later.  
	Her skin had cleared up, she'd lost weight, gotten contacts...
	and made my life a living hell for a couple of months.

	Thanks for everything!

-- 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------| Another stupid .sig file                |  iota...for the finest in          || * * * * * * * * * * * * *               |         brain candy                || iota@agora.rain.com                     |                                    |--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: lib@cbnews.cb.att.com (Lib)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: Re: new age travellers
Date: 26 Aug 92 14:50:50 GMT
Organization: AT&T

In article <JPG.92Aug26141359@holly.bnr.co.uk> jpg@bnr.co.uk (Jonathan P. Gibbons) writes:
>
>Jonathan
>(c)1992
>
>PS comments etc welcome

It's garbage.
Newsgroups: alt.prose
From: tony@jim.csc.ncsu.edu (TB)
Subject: Re: Untitled story
Keywords: envy, lust
Organization: Dis-
Distribution: alt.world.under
Date: Sun, 23 Aug 1992 22:34:56 GMT

	God-DAMmit. Wish I knew a 12 year old girl like that...

	TB
Newsgroups: alt.prose