Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Rambi who wrote (38121)	9/17/1999 4:27:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Respond to of 71178

Good. Fits. Send me a story about a really Õð-ing pissed off rabbit too. So hep me, Wabbit Gawd, I'm gwetting angwy.

To: Rambi who wrote (38121)	9/17/1999 4:34:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Respond to of 71178

Someone mentioned Kublai Khan the other day. He, that would be Coleridge of whoever the Õð it was, was well on his way to writing something like 200 pages, when a bill collector banged on the door, they got in an argument, and the entire vision of his story was destroyed. I think it was that he dreamed it, all of it, a whole, like Joseph Smith or something, and that's why it comes out so perfectly. It remains 1/4th or less finished, if I recall. Such is said anyway. Who said it? Like I give a Õð. I I I said it. If that's not good enough, I have a body-part sandwich for you. Wait ~ here's a smiley face: :o)

To: Rambi who wrote (38121)	9/17/1999 5:14:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 71178

In India, we heard this story, told seriously, after which type of story there was nothing to say. You sat around thinking, Oh jeez. There's a long way to go. Something should happen right now. So I can become that person of the story. I am ashamed of myself. Eh. Get a life. You'll get used to it. Used to being humiliated. Because you really do suck scum, when it comes down to it. See, the story, in this place, is told beautifully, way distant and near, as though something were going to happen; told as though in the midst of hushed combat troops, thinking their last pre-battle, un-battle thoughts. Those who aren't snoring, anyway. Even though it's told beautifully, precisely as some ancient poem, the very ancient poem it is, and spoken perfectly in its ancient Sanskrit and then English, I'm going to leave all that beautiful part out and cut straight to the "meat." A tired and hungry traveler walks up to a couple of men near a village and says, "I'm tired and hungry. Can you give me some food?" The one dude runs off around the village, looking to find food from someone for the man, saying, "There's a stranger in town and he's tired and hungry and needs some food." (This would be the YOU guy.) The other man takes a knife and cuts out a huge portion of his thigh and gives it to the traveler. (This is the NOT YOU guy.) End of story, except for those whose breakfast has started to wear off and have just awakened. (Yesterday that was you.) (Well; it's a very nice breakfast. And lunch is even better! If these guys would shut up.) See, while the first man is running around the village looking for food to give, the second man has satisfied the need, and recognized the Master, because he recognizes the Master in Everyone. He is indeed, a Holy Man, and he is indeed, a Disciple. And the two will merge. As you can see, is already happening. "Wake up. The Master knocks on your door." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ("He, wants to be with me?") "He is calling you home."