Subject:no
Date:Sat, 06 Sep 1997 16:17:34 +0000
From:miles.miles@backspace.org (Miles Treers)
Organization:backspace
To:haybottled@backspace.org
no news is good news
Subject:Saved from drowning
Date:Thu, 19 Jun 1997 12:03:06 +0100
From:ruth@irational.org (ruth catlow)
To:haybottled@backspace.org
Saved from drowning
Imagine if you couldn't feel
your skin, your muscles and your bones,
muscles moving hot tea down your throat.
No sense of touch
of pleasure, of pain.
No feeling of gravity
no bum on seat
or arm in sleave
let alone arm in arm.
Then there would be no inside and outside.
I would be sight and sound
Five feet off the ground- a T.V. on legs.
Would there be I love yous
If I could not feel my heart?
Even though consensus told me it was beating in my breast.
What would music be without the feel of blood pumping, pulsing,
racing through constricting veins-
the rythmic, smooth, rise and fall of breath.
Without one foot in front of another,
feeling the earth's resistance in every pace-
a life with no resistance might feel like death.
x ruth
London
e-mail ruth@backspace.org
Subject:message
Date:Mon, 16 Jun 97 00:00:05 gmt
From:Dave Lawrence
To:haybottled@backspace.org
My name is Wobbly. I am a pussycat. I am a long-haired Persian. I
live with my Daddy who gives me lots of fishy. Mostly I like to sleep
or watch TV. I like programmes with lots of things that move.
Sometimes I watch my Daddy on his computer. You can email me through
my Daddy at dave.lawrence@dial.pipex.com.
Subject:Kiss in a bottle
Date:Thu, 12 Jun 1997 04:20:21 +0100
From:ruth@irational.org (ruth catlow)
To:haybottled@backspace.org
KISS IN A BOTTLE
12th June 1997
kissing happens in a different place than this
kissing happened in a different time than this
kissing is distant, different
let's travel through the sound of the river back to the time of kissing.
It's not memory we need, what would we remember?
It all begins where you kiss my eyes with your eyes and my eyes kissing back.
Contrary memories of my eye's images and of what I know kissing is,
don't mix,
like oil and water.
Your one eye and the side of your nose squashing against mine seen through
my traitorous seeing eye?
My eye's image is a liar to the kiss, the cold photographer, exiled cynic.
Filmic images of our bodies from above, or seen through the eyes of the
voyeur at our side?
How were we fooled by photographs and films of kisses? These moments should
have shown us the limitations of the medium but instead, they fed our
voyeur's lust and we are happy with our new anodyne titillation, though it
starved us of what we needed, our voyeurs sat hard on our stomachs and
bounced in asinine delight. We watched, agog the plastic grunts, and sighs
coated in saccharine pathos.
Put a distance between us and kissing
Two pairs of eyes are never so close, their 'placing objects in space'
function over-ruled by intimacy, superseded by touch.
The eyes, lids up, sentinels to the soul are sent off duty. Lids roll-over,
eyeballs rolled back into whiteness. The whiteness of a deep breath never
taken.
My ears remember sighs that should never be retold except by ripping them
from my ears into a clumsy translation, into a foreign language,
Or worse, into language veiled in understanding.
But I can say that I heard our kissing sighs come at even volume, sounding
through our heads, I heard us both echo from my ear, a gentle purring from
the inside of the drum.
Weightless heads. This is what your neck muscles have been training for all
your life, from the time 'mother' stopped your head lolling dangerously
backwards and off. Training for the necessary illusion of weightlessness,
freeing consciousness for the moment of kissbliss. Two heads meet and
float.
This is not a moment to be seen by another.
My senses' memories are all comical and traitorous because they lack
oblivion's context, but sounds can make us listen to the silence
That is not a memory it is a now
kissing happens in a different place than this
kissing happened in a different time than this
kissing is distant, different
let's travel through the sound of the river back to the time of kissing.
A SONG
It happened
On a slope of grass on the coppice edge,
Where you lay bare, your head on the grass
with your shining arms slightly raised
a child knight
And I licked you on your lips
And a roebuck licked you in the shimmering, natural beech/birch sunlight
The buck's and me
There was silence in the twittering
but sounds couldn't make us listen to the silence then
But sounds can't ...
It happened-
The buck's and me,
On a slope of grass on the cop-twittering- piss edge,
natural, shimmering, beechirch sunlight
lips
Where you lay bare, raised,
sunlight with your shining 'make us listen to the silence!' now arms
slightly twittering,
a child knight.
And I twittering
your head on the grass.
And a roebuck twittering
licked you in the ...
There, licked you on your ...
was silence in the twittering.
BETRAYAL
Kissing happened just now,
I still have your lick in my mouth,
my tongue is still gulping back your air
your tongue defining the cavernous shape of the space of my inside mouth
I have stolen a few minutes to recount.
my mouth's inside surface as its moves from wet inside to outside, where
wet means something else.
Inside is a secret, living, feeling, coiled tongue
outside is an image of a mouth, two strips of limber muscle built for
expression.
A treacherous triangular pact is made between the eyes and the mouth,
to quell the face
by a strict practice of portraiture.
the self portrait with the face as palette.
I find myself trapped,
composing my own self portrait,
trying to make it look like a Real Princess
only not so boring.
It's all very well to chose a set of acceptable positions for the lips to
take up on leaving the house,
but to not even try the wilder ones out at home
- what are solitude and love for?
EXPRESSIONS FOR THE MOUTH TO PRACTICE
Kiss me
I want you
Allure
Gentleness
or a smile so you will know I am harmless
or that I know
A BLUSH 15 YEARS AGO
In the roller disco
a kiss made me blush
a pleasurable blush
unlike him asking me if it was my first fag,
a prickly blush.
ruth@backspace.org
ruth@irational.org
ruth@ 38, Acris Street, London, SW18
Subject:twat
Date:Tue, 27 May 1997 10:39:44 +0100
From:Tara
To:haybottled@backspace.org
hello john, call me 0171 613 0297
Subject:Message in a bottle
Date:Sat, 26 Apr 1997 22:16:47 +0000
From:gio@backspace.org (Giovanni D'Angelo)
Organization:Backspace
To:haybottled@backspace.org
If you find this message in the bottle and you fancy a beer...drop us a
line and we'll tootle on out...doesn't matter who you are on where you
are based on this planet just let us know!
richard@webmedia.com