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