HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: osan@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (Mr. X)
Subject: Re: Japanese tatt designs
Organization: Twilight Zone
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 9 Sep 1992 21:12:02 GMT

In article <1992Sep4.203400.17209@samba.oit.unc.edu> Matt.Balara@bbs.oit.unc.edu (Matt Balara) writes:
>	Forgive my lack of follow up quoting, the UNC BBS isn't equipped
>for that (not that I'm complaining about my only Usenet news access :D)...
>	
>	Jeff Dauber asked what exactly I was looking for specifically as
>far as Jap tatts go.  Well, I know a top quality artist and am looking for
>a little content inspiration, I'd like to draw my tatt myself and need
>some good visual references of japanese art, existing japanese tatts, etc. 
>Anything you can give me, book names, mag names and addresses, whatever,
>would be *highly* appreciated.  Also, Jeff, the names and contact info of
>any of the east coast artists with a rep for good Jap work that you
>mentioned would make me *real* happy.  Thanks again. 

	You want good material for a Japanese style tat??  OK  I'll GIVE you
	good material.  Have a copy of Hokusai's "The Great Wave" emblazoned
	across yer back.  That would make one of the most ass kicking, fine
	tattoos anyone could possibly want.

	A seriously great work of art that would be muy impressive if done
	well.

	-Andy V.
From: quark@asylum.UUCP (Dronf Sekat Hsiw)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.bodyart
Subject: Re: Rudeness
Date: 11 Sep 92 13:44:13 GMT

dos@major.panix.com (Dave O'Shea) writes:

>quark@asylum.UUCP (Dronf Sekat Hsiw) writes:

>> ask me to get the watrons' attention by waving a tooth-pick with a little
>Watron? What is a watron? Did I miss out on yet another social fad?

Heh, waitron is PC-speak for waiter/waitress.  Ok, so I grew up in Northern
California - a commune yet in my early years, PC met my second language for
highschool...

>--
>"A leopard never changes his stripes" 
>           -- Al Gore, candidate for vice-president
-- 
===========================================================vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
-Dave Hull(quark@asylum.sf.ca.us -in reality near Boston.) >home #(617)623-5319
"I ... have a ... confession ... to make.  I was ... only  >work #(617)942-0915
 ... pretending ... to understand David Lynch." -Bizarro   ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Newsgroups: rec.arts.bodyart
From: fritzz@bud.megatek.uucp (Friedrich Knauss)
Subject: Re: Temporary cutting info?
Reply-To: megatek!fritzz@uunet.uu.net
Organization: Megatek Corporation, San Diego, California
Date: Mon, 14 Sep 1992 21:48:25 GMT

In article <1992Sep11.232340.11350@parc.xerox.com> cak@parc.xerox.com (Chris Kent Kantarjiev) writes:
>Last night, I met a woman who had a lovely cobweb cut into her shoulder. Except
>this was different -- it was temporary. It had been done last weekend and she 
>expected it to heal up in another week. She said this is the third one she's
>had, and none of them have marked her permanently.
>
>I'd love to learn how to do this. The only detail I got from her before she
>had to wander off is that it was done with a scalpel. My guess is that it's
>just not done as deeply as a "regular" cutting -- but how deep is too deep?
>There was clearly scab present, so blood must be drawn -- it's more than
>just scratching.
>
>Can someone tell me more about how to do/learn this? Thanks.

I've tried this in the past, here's what I learned:

1) Sterilize! do your hands, the tool, and the area to be cut.
	I used rubbing alcohol. (Ouch!). Betadine (diluted) and
	HO are probably better choices. 

2) Use a _sharp_ knife. I started by accident when I was playing
	around with a friends sharp knife that he had just
	sharpened. Made a mess too.  Scalpels are good, I
	find single edge razor blades easier to find.

3) Find which depth works best where. The nice thing about
	razor blades is that you can hold them the right
	distance from the edge to prevent cutting too deep.
	I like about 1/8". The idea is to cut into the dermis,
	but not much below that. A good way to judge it is
	by how quickly the blood follows the cut. If you have
	a bead of blood following the blade you're probably
	cutting too deep. Don't be surprised if it takes as
	long as 15 seconds for the blood to become visible.

4) After care. Keep it clean. I'd suggest washing it with soap
	and water about 1/2 an hour after the cutting to get rid
	of the large scabs. At that point the wound is still
	fresh enough so that you'll get a pretty uniform light
	scab in the incision. The skin will feel irritated for a
	while, but you just gotta deal with that.

5) How long does it last? You will have a noticable scab pattern
	for a couple of weeks, after that it becomes an ever
	fading scar pattern that dissapears completely after
	about a year, depending on your skin and the severity of
	the cut.
-- 
-- Bones heal - Chicks dig scars - Pain is temporary - Glory is forever
-- fritzz@megatek.com :wq ZZ QQUIT exitqqq^C^Y^C^C^C^C^C^C^C
--
Newsgroups: rec.arts.bodyart
Subject: RE: PIERCINGS
From: dave.williams@chaos.lrk.ar.us (Dave Williams) 
Date: 5 Sep 92 14:22:00 GMT
Reply-To: dave.williams@chaos.lrk.ar.us (Dave Williams) 
Distribution: world
Organization: The Courts of Chaos * Jacksonville AR USA * 501-985-0059

-> and both said they got sub-par pierces. I would no more go to
-> a doctor for a pierce just because they're familiar with
-> needles than

 *Doctors* don't handle needles.  They merely tell the nurse to do it.
The nurse then hunts up the proper lab tech and passes the order along.
From: hurd@fraser.sfu.ca (Peter L. Hurd)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.bodyart
Subject: Re: Rudeness
Date: 5 Sep 92 04:43:12 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada

barb@batcave.EBay.Sun.COM (Barbara MacRae) writes:

>Stare at them with a kind of a smirk that'll get them wondering
>if they've got something in their teeth. You can enhance
>that by pointing at your *own* teeth

  Now THIS is wisdom, the likes of which I am incapable of, I can see
it now, in the ckeckout (yeah right good name) line at safeway, some
gawking meehum and their comments, suddenly all self concious, trying to
surrepticiously toungue the vegetable goo from beween their incisors
all the while trying not to look like they're taking you seriously.
Brilliant!  Best giggle fit since I started writing my thesis, and
I havn't even seen it in action yet.

>-Barb
-- 
-- Pete Hurd, hurd@sfu.ca          |"So I've got this 22Meg output file..." |
Behavioural Ecology Research Group |"Yeah, well delete it."                 |
Dept.Biol.Sci., Simon Fraser Univ. |"But how will I know what it says"      |
Burnaby B.C. V5A 1S6 Canada        |"Well, how will you know what it means?"|
Newsgroups: rec.arts.bodyart
Subject: Surgeons, M.D.s and pierc
From: aleister.crowley@chaos.lrk.ar.us (Aleister Crowley) 
Date: 9 Sep 92 09:08:00 GMT
Reply-To: aleister.crowley@chaos.lrk.ar.us (Aleister Crowley) 
Distribution: world
Organization: The Courts of Chaos * Jacksonville AR USA * 501-985-0059

EMG>doctor was suggested by someone in the REsearch book _Modern Primitives_.

I keep seeing references to this book _Modern Primitives_. Is it still
in print? Where could I find a copy? Are there any other recommended
books or periodicals on piercing, tattooing, and so forth? We're very
interested.

Thanks.

BTW, to those who sent E-Mail to me... the way we access Usenet, E-Mail
is only retained for 3 days or so, and I've been out of town so I may
have missed some mail. Please resend if possible. Thanks very much!
---
 . SLMR 2.1a . A man is only as old as the woman he feels.
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (Maven o'Mirth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Poetry Suggestion
Date: 6 Sep 92 01:35:11 GMT
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA

From _Henry V_, IV.iii:

KING:

		What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, My fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enow
to do our country loss; and if to live,
the fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upn my cost;
It earns me not if men my garments wear; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's Peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
and crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors
and say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day.  Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words--
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester--
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good amn teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered--
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England, now abed,
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's Day.



OBinspiration, our stage manager for the play I did this summer had
us sit onstage, in a circle, while he played the recording of this from the
film.  When we felt inspired enough to go with Harry, as he put it, we
were to stand.  On "to the ending of the world..."  each and every one of
us, all eleven, stood at once, and joined hands.  It was one of those
extraordinary moments that no doubt had to do with the excellence of the
actor playing the role--but the Bard's words are the inspiration.  If you
have the patience to practice Shakespeare until you do it well, I
personally can think of no single speech or poem more inspirational.

My .02...
--
Sheryl Stover				|  How passing fair is youth,
*>sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu<*		|  Forever fleeting away;
and Hemingway, feline philosopher	|  Who happy would be, let him be;
Watch this .sig for news of the		|  Of tomorrow, who can say?
upcoming album from Seattle's 		|	-Lorenzo de'Medici
premier band, the Medici!		|
From: beh@geech.gnu.ai.mit.edu (Bruce Howells)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: re:TO RALPH@WIXER...
Date: 14 Sep 92 21:16:24 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation


the stench of jealousy arises
from his words

can you smell his envy 
in his sweat?

he toiled and labored to 
rend the words which 
are the cloud which covers truth
and in his labors
grew to stink
first in sweat
then in unbathed jealousy
and finally in descent to 
stoop so low
as to comment...

and he, a pauper in his words
to comment to a prince of men.

(ah well, Ralph, what is the saying?
They'll not know you in your hometown?
I think that the same is true for those
who post here.. some have been terribly dumped upon
for things which are above the common ken.
Forgive the dunce.  He knows not what he does.)

--In praise of Ralph, in whose works we may not always find perfection, but
in whose works we always find truth.

--Nancy Howells
(beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu through the good graces of my husband)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rlwilliams@gallua.gallaudet.edu
Subject: Author of this poem?
Organization: Gallaudet University
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 1992 19:34:46 GMT

I really enjoy this conference... I wonder if anyone out there could help 
me find the source of this poem...


There's fun in all jobs, but the best of the lot
Is always the job that you haven't got.

They're thicker than plums and like little Jack Horner
I'll stick my thumb around the next corner

There's yellow haired Mary. whose so full of charm
That her waist was just made for the crook of your arm.

Like the head of the cabbage that grows in one spot
Whgere will it get you except in the pot

So, I'll amble along, dispite booster and scorner
'Till I meet up with death around the next corner.


Looks to me a little bit like some Robert Service or that kind of poet... 
ANY ideas whatsoever?

thanks

rlwilliams@gallua.bitnet
From: denelsbe@washington.cs.unc.edu (Kevbo)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Markham's Circles
Date: 13 Sep 92 03:19:30 GMT

Another one that's not quite there -- I'd appreciate comments from anybody
who makes their way through it.  (Thanks in advance to anyone who does.)

		Markham's Circles

	A certain old man lived in lonelitude.
	He thought that he lived in solitude,
	but solitary life requires a sol,
	and the old man's travails had taken their toll.

	He shared his mansion with an ancient cat
	and thought he owned it (we know better than that).
	He called the cat Nicholas, because of its Claus,
	and thought himself very clever,
	but as we will soon see, he was never
	as sharp as the ends of those furry paws.

	One day (unknown to him) he sat down
	to die, and as he settled back, a frown
	sprung on his face, errant emotion welling
	from the time he had leaned back in the quelling
	arms of a girl he had foolishly loved.
	But the art of guard-lowering he'd long forgotten,
	like his medicine on the kitchen counter, neatly shoved
	underneath an old plate abuzz with rotten
	fish fillets.  Anonymous feet had batted the pill
	in there, and now those same feet on a nearby sill
	leapt down and conveyed the cat into the living room
	and to the old man awaiting foredoom.

	The old man felt a tightness in his chest
	and was startled so badly that he actually messed
	in his pants even before the void of his death.
	He felt the pain, the pressure, the shortness of breath.
	Years ago, Molly's arms had held too tight in her hope;
	but now their absence tied him tighter than rope.

	Stiffly, he tried to rise from his shackles and stink,
	but Nicholas the cat pounced into his lap,
	seeming suddenly a ton, and making the man sink
	back down into the seat of his very own crap.

	He might well have survived this episode
	(for there was little dignity left to erode)
	if Nicholas hadn't put anvil-like feet
	on the old man's wildly heartless beat
	then started to pad in place, claws digging in,
	and said in the Devil's voice, easy with sin,

	"Well, this is it, old boy, and I can't wait
	to see you below.  Why don't you lie back
	and take your last little nap, and I'll make
	myself comfortable here, and that will be that." 

	The old man gagged, slumped, and was dead.
	The cat settled itself down to bed.

-----------
Kev @ UNC
9/12/92

-- 
|| +------------------+  Why are you so far away?  she said,
||-| Kev @ UNC        |  Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you,
||-| Master Poetaster |  That I'm in love with you? ...
|| +------------------+  -- The Cure, "Just Like Heaven" (best song ever?)
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Duped
Keywords: Senility
Date: 11 Sep 92 23:34:10 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


DUPED

A study in senility, your deception is the keener
of our two - I thought I was a master of duplicity.
Sweet, timid feeling prompted everything, as well
you know, and never was there sould so full of life
as that which grew there beneath your breast.

How did you discover me?
I never left a clue, of that I'm certain,
cushioned in a hard-spun fantasy of bicycles
and flying pigtails, "just around the corner"
by virtue of my parents' names...
and you were the one who remembered.

I never touched him, dear one, never spoke;
his ego is the only one that knows my who,
and why and how; and even he doesn't believe
in your winded world and sightless dreams,
your guages tucked away from his reality.

My month of mourning threw itself
upon your jaded mercy;
jaded more by years than by experience,
you reached out and took my hand and
led me on, enticed me give your credence.

Now, suns pastt, I give your due -
your terms have made me wrangle with
myself and shake out my black suit,
for the second time this summer...
and there you sit, and cackle at my sentiment.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: simran@inkstone.Eng.Sun.COM (George O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: (happy thoughts) & inspiration ideas
Date: 14 Sep 1992 16:18:48 GMT
Organization: Sun Microsystems
Distribution: world
Reply-To: simran@inkstone.Eng.Sun.COM
NNTP-Posting-Host: inkstone

In article 16953@leland.Stanford.EDU, jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien) writes:
>
>
>	Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  =)  I actually feel really
>happy for once, but there's a side effect: I don't feel motivated to 
>write poetry. =|  Maybe I ought to make 1-hour-only depression
>pills for artistic inspiration.  ;)   (or maybe I ought to learn to write
>about happy things ... without being cheesy).  =)  Hahahahahah....
>smileys to all ... love and flowers, and all that mush....  (Truly,
>the sage says, this is a rare event.)
>
>	On a more serious note, anyone who has suggestions for
>"inspiration", could you post it here?  I've heard from a few poets
>who have been having problems lately, and I'm sure many more would
>enjoy hearing some mind-starting ideas.
>
>	Here are a few ideas of mine:

THis brings up a question that has been surfacing in my thin veneer of 
consciousness recently. It is well known (hopefully:-) that you can't write 
good love poetry while still "in the feeling." The rationale behind this is
that while in love there are certain little words and turns of phrase that for
you (i.e. the person "in love") evoke gobs and gobs of overwhelming feelings.
Yet for those out of that context, those same phrases don't evoke much, leaving
the reader somewhat underwhelmed. Many, realizing this, end up overcompensating
and getting sappy.
  So, my question is, is there a similar process at work when writing "depression"
poetry? Can you write of depressing feelings accurately while still in them?

It seems to me that we have one of our beloved RAP poets poised in the perfect
position to address this question. Whaddya think ms Fang-Chien? How about
writing about your depressed states for us?


>Jennifer
>p.s. if things become desparate: sit under a tree and feel spiritual ;)
>p.p.s. or visit Troublemaker O'Toole's ranch and howl with some coyotes.
>
This sounds fun! I would also recommend Whipple wash near the Cal/Ariz border.
The echoes o'them coyotes inside the box canyons is indelible!

(Signed!) George (troublemaker) O'Toole



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Stiff
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 15 Sep 92 15:05:19 GMT


                        On reading a particular poet today

I found her today
stale
her characteristic
turn of verbal head
gone puerile and stiff
yes
that's it
like when you awake
with a stiff neck...
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Love/anonymous
Date: 8 Sep 92 13:54:42 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <15054@borg.cs.unc.edu> denelsbe@washington.cs.unc.edu (Kevbo) writes:
>Another of my  favorites.  The author is "anonymous", who is, I think,
>distantly related to Posthumous...
>
>
For those who are interested (if any are), Anonymous O'Toole and I are
third cousins once removed.  However, we're not on speaking terms due to
some petty disputes over authorship of cerrain verses.


-Posthumous O'Toole

-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: eah1@gauguin.wustl.edu (Edward Anthony Hutchins)
Subject: Different Directions
Organization: Washington University, School of Engineering, St. Louis MO
Date: Tue, 8 Sep 1992 01:12:18 GMT


   Different Directions

 sun-dappled grey oak trail
 steep brown clay, chert and flint
     surround warm sweeping rib, heaving flank
     glint from muddy chrome, black gloss paint
 a spark from steel-shod hoof
 meets the clatter of shifting chain

 the two, engrossed in tasks
 pass in opposing directions
     sure feet methodically climbing
     gnarled rubber heedlessly bouncing
 the pop of a rock rebounding from rim
 bids farewell to swishing tail

_____________________________________________________________________________
:-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-) | see lidflip instructions on
Edward Hutchins, eah1@cec1.wustl.edu            | other side of card
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: eah1@gauguin.wustl.edu (Edward Anthony Hutchins)
Subject: Driving Home
Organization: Washington University, School of Engineering, St. Louis MO
Date: Wed, 9 Sep 1992 04:17:54 GMT

    Driving Home

 a pressure behind my eyes
 maybe the ragweed
 or the heat
 or the crap from these cars
 or maybe modern life

 grinds down millions of headlights
 a pathway of shattered glass
 under our skins
 an itch with no relief
 they say you learn to love it

 too wise for that trap
 you think me a fool?
 I've lived as long as you
 two billion years and counting
 but age means nothing

 acid air burns running sinus
 a fiendish byproduct
 of worshiping rational thought
 Godel's pin pricks neat
 leaves me no belief

 I wipe away tears
 not crying for a future
 that never mattered anyhow
 crying for the now
 so avidly sought

_____________________________________________________________________________
:-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-) | see lidflip instructions on
Edward Hutchins, eah1@cec1.wustl.edu            | other side of card
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jondarr@macadam.ocs.mq.edu.au (jondarr c g h 2 gibb)
Subject: Our Imagery
Organization: Macquarie University, Australia.
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 1992 22:57:10 GMT

Something concocted with Lizzy's help - she kept me out of line.
C&Cmeplease.


        Our Imagery

I want to write tonight of what I almost saw :
a lovely vision in my memory forevermore
and I'll adore her as no woman gone before
with so much more amour (adore her more).

But what if she is no more real than this :
the tenderness of one sweet stolen kiss,
her loveliness, a moment's hectic bliss,
a granted wish, and then my love has gone amiss.

This woman that I desire has taken me
from icy heart to passion's fire and set me free
upon a flight of fantasy, yet always with me,
climbing higher with the wind, sweet heaven, let me be.

But Lady, now I see you are more real than I,
no longer am I whole, a shadow if I try
to stand before your light, so bright; to fill the sky
and still to touch the ground - gold sunbeams pass me by.

I thought her vision was not real, but now I see
more clearly how the light passed through the hole in me
and lit upon a butterfly - my heart set free
to flutter by my shade, her light, our imagery.

The abstract falls upon the concrete where the shards
are sung or burned or tampered with by jealous bards.

			9th September, 1992



                    
              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

From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Tue, 8 Sep 1992 21:50:33 GMT
Subject: Re: Hello...
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA