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Pastimes : May Day, also known as Beltane -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: E who wrote (561)	4/27/1999 8:00:00 PM
From: Ilaine	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 2063

Go for it!

To: E who wrote (561)	4/27/1999 8:42:00 PM
From: The Philosopher	Respond to of 2063

Yes, my Lord, I am, alas, so lacking in experience that I have need of a detailed description of these intriguing games. In order to make an informed decision. FAITHLESS ONE. FICKLE ONE. THOU WOULD LIE WITH SUCH A CHURLISH FELLOW BEFORE HE EVEN DEFENDS HIMSELF ON THE FIELD OF HONOR? Perhaps thou art not worthy of my further attentions. Down at my feet, quickly, and beg my forgiveness, lest I cast thee off and compete with Edwarda's attention against that Ancient Order of Lepidopterists (that AOL she spake of).

To: E who wrote (561)	4/27/1999 8:44:00 PM
From: Dayuhan	Read Replies (4) \| Respond to of 2063

The games may come later, young lady. First, you must be undeceived. Credit not the protestations of purity and nobility that spout so heartily from the mouth of this self-proclaimed artiste. You are but a vehicle for the gushings of his puerile blubbering ego; when his flounder-flogging is complete this eater of broken meats will do no more than parade you before the dilettantes, as if his daubings were an end in themselves, something more than the garnish on a plate fit for a gourmet. And his metaphor offends; offends, I say. This talk of canvas must end. Canvas is rough and crude; this is smooth. To illustrate, let me guide your fingers across it. See? Smooth here, smooth there. Soft and smooth on this side, flat and smooth here, curved and smooth there. Dry and smooth in this corner, wet and smooth in that, but always smooth. Nothing like canvas, nothing at all. Silk would be closer, but still short of the mark. And these geological spoutings, what boorish notions does this oaf stoop to? Volcanos, forsooth. Where find volcanos of such perfect symmetry, how compare these roseate slopes to the arid crags of volcanic nature? Set these gems he calls craters beside one another. Touch them lightly, and compare. What work of geology dare frame such flawless symmetry, such softness and warmth? Feel them swell and rise to meet your fingers; what cloddish tick-ridden excuse for a man could panic at their invitation? And a cave, the horror. To speak of this warm opening, an entry to be caressed and cherished, as a dank and musty hole, reeking of guano; what blasphemy! To the dungeon with him! Touch it, lightly. Do bats stoop here, do crude animals crawl for comfort? Never! A new-opened flower, perhaps. But a cave? The horror! Now let your fingers explore the scented meadow below, find the glowing spring of life that this craven fat-kidneyed pignut mistook for a hole in the earth. Feel the vital waters flowing, smell the fresh scents of life! Hold it open, let it flow as it was meant, before some yeasty hedge-born ratsbane's rash and fruitless attempt to seal it shut with a crude and laughably hasty application of glue. Feel its folds and valleys, the parts that rise and those that fall, and drive the maggot-laden ignoramus from your mind. Later we may speak of games; in the meantime I sit at your feet, my overwhelming respect for your chastity not having allowed me to lay a single finger on your pure, youthful, form.