The Leech and the Beach!

Illustration by David Scurr

Picture this:

A still lake, an opportunity, an opportunist...

The Leech and the Beach!

subtitled: The Letch and the Bitch!

The life had advantage...Where? On a beach
where I was savagely ravaged by a testy ol' leech.
I was out at the cottage afloat on a tube
unaware of the danger; an unprepared rube.

Discovered by slime, by the slug far aground;
prime cut for the taking of the want'n blood hound
to mate me half way between unsure and shore,
discovered uncovered, unaware to the core.

...and then IT! had taken me...more than a minute
perhaps it was hours, it seems I was unwitted
dame game for the bloated pleasure of one
who gloated in leisure and cried "bloody fun!"

"Bleck" I said crossly "I feel I've been used,
I feel tawdry, Miss Taken, ashamed and abused."
The "said suction" needed a firm and stiff action.
Revenge would be rendered for sub slime satisfaction.

I registered a plea to get it off of my chest.
I swam back to shore, brushed him off, and re-dressed
the laid worm...for the frontal assault...
I laid my recourse...I'd affront..."a la salt"

The satisfied smile that had angered me so
was soon to be gone, 'twas the first thing to go.
It shrunk back in pain, then I swear it did squeal...
"That's the very last time I'll have you as a meal!"

Hey the damned thing was guilty, it had it's way...
for my services rendered....the sucker had paid.
The member was tendered and the needed correction
was making him a fraction of a former erection!

So that is the story of how one woman won
a harrowing battle and how justice was done,
but if you are wondering, you can assume
I'd gladly submit...to rub salt in the wound.

Quasimodem

About the author: Divorced and can you believe she is still single?

The Red Dress

Illustration by David Scurr

The Red Dress


Here's the story, I'm ashamed to say,
how I dealt with the devil on a dreary wet day,
I hoped what I heard was not merely lore,
the day I entered the dark master's store.

I wanted the power of a flashy built blonde.
It had to be magic, it had to be strong.
I made the request and he answered it too.
He screamed for my soul and $52.92!

He went to the back and brought out a bag.
He punched at the register and ripped off the tag.
He packed a red dress and howled with delight.
It seems I was setup for Saturday night.

I arrive at the restaurant, but can this really be?
The magic was working, all eyes were on ME!
But the devil had tricked me, he received more.
In exchange for my soul...I look like a whore!

So that is the pathetic end to my story...
seems attention is not always glitter and glory.
And where is the dress? The magical rag?
In my closet right now, in a lead-lined suit bag.

Quasimodem

Virtually Yours

Are you looking for action, an escaping of woes,

a release on reality, a break from the lows

of your dreary existence, and the bleak urban plight?

Just download a newsgroup this Saturday night.

What will you find?...Oh all kinds and sorts

of people to talk to; willing cohorts

to play in the game of deception and need.

The basic requirement is merely...you read.

The butcher that's sick of carving up cows

seeks something similar to that which meows;

something that's soft, and not like a meat...

so a visit to SPAM is a vacation retreat.

A Sanitary engineer will consider it fun

to download philosophy when workday is done.

So the garbageman finally gets to unpack

the crap he's collected, and toss it all back.

Cross-dressers who tire of matching up clothes,

the buying of accessories, make-up and hose,

will toggle on WOMENS, relax and then...

need not redress to get down on the men.

The people on WRITERS.. now that is an enigma...

Work becoming play without any stigma.

They write all night after writing all day

so you know THEY've already thrown reality away!

The old, they act young; the young they act old.

The meek and the timid become stronger and bold.

Be rich smart or famous, a dog, gal or guy.

It's really quite easy... if you're willing to lie.

So what am I saying? Gee...I'll tell you for free

and if you've been listening you know it's not me...

I've got brains, charm and money; I look like a 10

and I've passed on a virus to ten thousand men!

So ya think I'm attractive...well that is a joke.

It's virtual reality without taking a toke.

It's Timothy Leary's modern day dream,

where virtually nothing is all that it seems!

Quasimodem

Mother's Day

My mom...

....believed me over all others.

She instilled a feeling that truth meant something.


And...

I hated outings to a "hotsy totsy" restaurant learning of napkins, forks, and decorum, carrying a purse that had nothing in it...

(What part of middle class are we not getting here?...the sad thing is...err now I know why she did it)

She set up cots on the front veranda the summer I felt friendless. We both slept there the bulk of the summer like we were camping. She pretended she was my friend. I pretended I believed her.

I remember...

Her singing when she couldn't sing...

Making horrid looking theme cakes when she wasn't particularly artistic.

Allowing me to crawl into bed with her for every nightmare, despite the grumblings of my dad.

Talk about bravery!


Regrets?

Yeah, wished I put aside the decorum so she could see who I am.

I suspect she would do the same.


However...she drove me insane...

Trying to give money to the kids when I was trying to instil financial values.

Bringing my dad early to his surprise birthday party...

Leaning on me too much...


But now...

Wished she would give the kids money..

Wished she could drop in at a party...

Wished she would lean on me just once more.

I love you mom.

Who would I like to be...if I could?

Who would I like to be...if I could?

Heck, anybody, anybody but me.

Don't worry, my self esteem isn't that far in the dumpster and I don't want to be just anyone forever. What I want is to experience being another human being for just as long as it would take to register that I am...indeed...another.

It would be like in Star Trek "The Vulcan Mind Meld" Yeah, that's it!
Thanks Ian, it is "Meld", not "Transfer"
I would just grab a hold of the head of some volunteer or passerby, probably the opposite sex would work best, and have a real meeting of the minds.

In the hopes of finding...

Basically, I would hope to find nothing new, the same old deal, la même chose.

Ain't that a kicker?

I know we all differ, but I want to embody our commonalities.

You may ask... Why search for something you already know?

To live the fact that we are more alike than different. To experience, at least through another's memories, the stupid and the brilliant moments, the times of bravery and cowardice, feelings of love and hate, self esteem and loathing, pain and joy; would be life changing, eye opening, downright profound. Don't you think we all have those moments?

Sadly, at this point in time, I have to take your word for it...

We are hard on "us", and the company of another mind, if only for a second, would quiet us, make us feel less alone, a part of the world. It would be a boon for understanding and compassion, forgiveness for others and ourselves. It would be great, almost sweet.

Yet...

I'm not convinced that it would be smart to "meld" with someone you already know. I get visions of Spock doing the transfer on Captain Kirk. They never showed this on the series but...

I'm sure that Spock was totally pissed when he found out that there was no hope in hell that he would ever get promoted to Captain!

Quasimodem

Net Worthy

I am a woman caught in the net...

It's a late Tuesday night as I ready myself for a night of chat and email. I turn the rearview mirror towards me, checking the angle. In this game you have to know what you've said before and I was not going into this electric playground unprepared.

I make a quick appraisal of my demeanor: not too revealing yet not stuffy, challenging, not pushy, bold, not brazen. I stuff my pocket dictionary into my purse (not a standard feature), check my address book, turn on the power and proceed with caution. As I enter the world of virtual communication I notice a flashing on my screen. Could it be a power surge? Damn, it's the cops!

I'm pulled into "Chat".

Cop 1>Good evening. Proof of name please.....

Cop2>uhem, ALL of them Ms. Hetic.

I give the man my real name, my monker, my alias. He runs them through his computer for verification. I hear my stats being discussed amongst themselves. It's hard to hear what they are talking about through their laughter.

God, this is humiliating!

They return...

Cop2>O.K. Sorry about the delay. Do any of these names look familiar to you?

I look through a long list of names. I tell the cops that a couple are familiar. I point to a few names of guys I write to. The cops exchange knowing glances, shut their notepads, and say...

Cop2>We hate to be the ones to break the news to you Pat_Hetic, Quasimodem, Monkey Wench, or whatever the hell you are calling yourself tonight, but in our line of work we like to refer to these men as Virtual Stalkers. They cruise the net looking for unsuspecting women, such as yourself to Hood Wink ;-), It really doesn't help that you name yourself Pathetic, it's just the type of woman that is preyed on most often. The good news is that you are driving an old profile, not many approach the older models. They really aren't worth as much out on the net, but...the fact that they are perceived grateful usually tips the balance.

I mention that I am not grateful. Grateful to be alive maybe...but that's about it.

Cop1>There is also the perception that the older models can teach something out there...but the truth is they are too tired usually to move much.

Cop1>Yeah, what part about the word "old" do they not get?

The cops exchange the most horrid of smirky looks. I am starting to get insulted. If I hear the word cougar I'm complaining to their superiors.

Cop2>Why did you think these guys were writing to you anyway?

I told them that my entries were quite thought provoking, rather amusing, fresh!

The cops start to giggle, breaking down into uncontrollable laughter. They laugh so hard that coffee spews from their noses. Tears of laughter run down their faces. When they finally regain their composure they continue...

Cop 1>Lady ....wake up! Have you read any of your own posts? You didn't even suspect anything, not even once? I find that hard to believe. I mean what did you think when you received a few "Jeffrey Dahmer" pics?

With indignance, I asked exactly what he was referring to.

Cop1>Don't you be telling us that you have never received pictures of men with naked torsos, some actually headless. We can check out your message history, so you aren't fooling anyone.

Honestly I thought it might be bad photography. I mean not all of us have access to famed photographer Anne De Haas who can be reached at http://www.annedehaas.com and I did receive emails from those living in warmer countries. There might be a perfectly good reason why men would be half naked when answering the proverbial email door....

Cop2>Welcome to Club Naive, the club for self-deluding women. I admit you are the oldest one that we've pulled over tonight and we know that most of what has happened is truly because you don't know what you are doing. I mean, don't you know how to lie yet?

The cop shines a flashlight in my face. This is so embarrassing.

Cop1>We just want you to be careful, serve and protect y-know. We are just trying to keep the net safe.

I ask them if there is anything I can to to help.

Cop2>Yes there is. Post this letter everywhere you write to men so other women won't be as naive as you.

I say "Oh yeah, right...then nobody will write to me for fear of being accused unfairly".

What are they actually suggesting; that I take a bath, put on make-up and actually go out? How insane is that?

Cop2>Listen, we don't want to ruin your social life here. We know how the world works. The "real" men will get a kick out of it and take it in the spirit intended.

I think, now WHO here is being naive?

Cop1>Oh yeah, one more thing before you go, We'd like to see some registration for your "Outlook".

Quasimodem

Understanding the Classics

For those who are interested...

I am currently working on a series of books which may enlighten, if not heighten, your appreciation of the written word.

My goal is to revamp some of our existing great literary works, which quite frankly rely too heavily on innuendo, subtlety and imagery.

How many times have you asked yourself "What the hell is Bill Shakespeare trying to say?"
Well, you're not alone. Many have asked the same question, students, homemakers and professional writers as well.

Yes, words are not enough.

Don't look so shocked!

8-0!

Hey, did you see that? That strange combination of characters above is called an "emoticon",(the fusion of the words emote and con), and it's the modern literary tool I chose to shed light upon the emotional demeanour of the classics.

Allow me to send you a copy of my book-

Shakespeare Winks ;-)
Understanding Great Literature Through Emoticons, Series A, Volume 1

No longer will you ponder if Shakespeare's characters are happy, sad, or angry because with my books, all the pesky work is done for you. Let me demonstrate by presenting a few excerpts to illustrate just how damned easy my concept is to understand.

From King Lear-

Get thee glass eyes

.-)

Finally we get to actually experience visual cues to confusing classics. It's almost like a comic book isn't it? Now we can get to know King Lear as well as we knew Archie and Veronica. Doesn't he seems like your old neighbor across the street, or the guy selling "Outreach" in front of the liquor store? So real, so lifelike.

Simple huh?

From Romeo and Juliet-

But , soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun.

8-}~

Always wondered about why the Capulet family was so pissed? Now you know. Just look at that face, talk about raging hormones. Yikes, Even I'm doing up an extra button on my blouse.

From Macbeth-

Out, damned spot! Out I say

%^!

No longer do teachers have to spend countless hours explaining the finer points of dementia. They can clearly see that Lady Macbeth is experiencing a tad more than a hormonal mood swing.

I hope you understand and embrace this concept which is sure to become a classic in itself...or do I have to spell it out for you the old fashioned way, by way of expressive writing. How confusing.

Quasimodem

The Conspiracy!

The scene not so many years ago, somewhere in North America. We stumble onto a compound surrounded by barbed wire and patrolled by armed assasins. A secret meeting comes to order.

(hush....and shhh...baby don't you cry!)

A slick character with mirroed shades apporaches the cold marble table flanked by businessmen and James Earl Jones. Gasp! It's the phone company's brass. The "man" slams his fist on the table and shouts...

Man> Target, internet long distance communication. Objective, covert hobbling of cheap conversation...I mean communication, we are not going for the gold here gentleman and Ms. Hetic. Much of our funds are being diverted. Something must be done, and done now!

Pat>Pat looking hot, like I cannot tell you, smiles. (this girl is demonic, and a tad full of herself)

Man>Good god men, every move we make is counteracted by the damned C.N.N.

All in the room cringe at the very mention of the Computer Nerd Network. The power of the repressed is great. When will these Poindexters ever get laid? Drat!

Pat>Pat smiles once again, like she actually heard the narrator.

The man instructs two goons to bolt the door, no one will be leaving soon.

Man>Well, any ideas you pathetic phone jacks?

Pat>not surprisingly pat smiles and squirms a bit in her seat. What the hell is that about?

Small man, second to the end of the table> (cracks) emoticons.

Man>WHAAAAAAAAAAT!

Small man, second to the end of the table>emoticons sir, and (heck why does this word elude me right now, says the writer...it starts with a vowel, likely an "a"...describes the meaning of things like lol and the like...heck, I know where I'm going, perhaps this little mind loss is going to weave it's way into the story) things like lol, and rotflmao, and brb.
okay an acronym but now I'm commited to the error

Man>Go on!

S.M.S.T.T.E.O.T.T>It would seem that these seemingly innocuous characters would aid in communications, and they do, for the short term. People at the beginning use this vehicle to connect, communicate, dare I say...love. But the easy draw of cheap communication is deceptive. When all can laugh, and not really be laughing, falling off of their seats and really talking to bored high school slut housewives in another window... It's not what you see is what you get situation.

Man>Yes! ...not a W.Y.S.I.W.Y.G.

S.M.S.T.T.E.O.T.T.>Exactly! 8-}

Man>8-}~

S.M.S.T.T.E.O.T.T.>All communication breaks down. All are reduced to raving idiot teenagers, even the well educated. They will have to return to the use of the regular telephone system, even for MILITARY USAGE! Chaos prevails!

Pat>8-Q

An evil smirk is seen on James Earl Jones and the room becomes oppressively hot.

Have you ever seen James Earl Jones or the Anti-Christ in the same room?

James Earl Jones>I am your father, Luke, Jesus, Mathew, Paul, John, and Pat...but who's your daddy small man?

Small Man>!-)

Last Things First...

I wonder if I will ever ride a bike in a tutu again,
yet, that being said, to hell with the peas in life.
Imagine!

Last Things First
I wonder if I will ever ride a bike in a tutu again...

At the beginning everything was a first, your breath, your steps, your first day of school. My guess is, since I am not a kid, and not yet dead, my firsts and lasts are pretty balanced right now. There are things I've done and things I haven't done.

Yet...

First experiences are requiring a tad more imagination to find these days, and I think that's okay....

That being said...

I am quite sure I've taken my last spoonful of canned peas. Heck, I question why they existed in the first place. What's worse about them, their colour, texture or taste? In any event, I can choose never to have them again, unless of course that's only if I've been to my last distasteful dinner party.

to hell with the peas in life.

One day the firsts start to dwindle, I think, way before the lasts. Maybe your firsts change to the first time you can't, which is kind of a last in itself. Maybe when you can't tell the difference
anymore, times up!

This is the first Christmas that my daughter is bringing a boyfriend for dinner and the first time my dad will be cooking a turkey; it is my first Christmas without my mom, and not the last time I will miss her.

Imagine

Quasimodem

Post Partisms...

For the fans of the old BBS's..this one's for you!

Post Partisms...

Now my friend I'll explain how I made the most
of myself through the morphing of a bbs post.
I admit it's dishonest, misleading and crude...
it was kind of myself but exaggerated and lewd.

I took a plain post from my reader and then,
I relished embellishment, and created a ten.
My header was blonde, the body was busty,
the demeanor was stupid, the content was lusty.

For the final adornment, it wasn't a leap...
I added a tagline merely saying "I'm cheap".
I created a woman that any man could afford
with all the good parts posted up on a board.

Quasimodem

Happy Holidays

I have no poem to post, but like most, am very busy with the demands of the season.

Did notice a magazine upon checkout though...

From the Cover of 17 Magazine for December: I Killed my Mother-Page 112

Just another reason why one should choose just the right gift.

Happy Holidays!

8-0

The Thread

The Thread

"A thread" she stated, then disclosed
the worried rift within the prose.
Within the fray was pulled a thread
the question now, is where it led.

What's in her mind and up her sleeve?
He starts to bob, and she to weave.
The gate way's breached, she pulls a stride,
a virtual moment turns the tide.

The die is cast, escape gone by,
A web of thread done on the fly.
A willing victim to what was done?
Do you "mind control"?, "Are you having fun?"

Quasimodem

Carbon Copy

Illustration by David Scurr

Carbon Copy

My friend dropped by for a little chat
asking me where my cyberlife's at.
I sat beside her, picked up my fan,
crossed my legs, and began...

"We weave within and out the quotes;
making deductions and taking notes
of what lies hidden between the lines,
we're at the post and times define".

Talk of Jackie, Wally and June,
President's brains, and Dylan tunes,
Dick Van Dyke and Buddy's Pickles...
What comes next?...Wooden nickles?!

My friend, curious, asks for more;
pressuring me to reveal the score.
"Is it serious?" "What's the rating?"
I simply state "We're carbon dating."

Quasimodem

Vogue

Illustration by David Scurr

Background story...

David was inspired to illustrate this poem by a childhood story of mine.

I was twelve at the time and my mother wouldn't get off of the phone. With the aid of "a whipped cream can" I became a rabid, snarling

dog. My mom was laughing and couldn't answer the frantic woman on the line who was concerned for my mother's welfare. Guess the barking and growling was enough for her to keep repeating the phrase "Velma, do you want me to call the police?"

The cartoon? An adult me in a rabid state. Why?...now that's...

Vogue

Let's look at the women of women's magazines...
They wear make-up to bed; make-out like fiends.
The women of Vogue, Vanity Fair, Miramar-
Y-know what I'm saying, y-know who they are...

Those flexible women working flexible hours,
having flexible sex in flexible showers,
whose flexible skills help them in bed
and to fix the Hairdini on the back of their head.

You see I've been thinking of all of that stuff
and come to the conclusion I'm not nearly enough...
and with work, time and money, you know I could see...
that the woman...women hate...if I try...could be ME!

I'd knock off my parents; there's inheritance there;
get a breast augmentation, peroxide my hair.
I'd fake my I.D., fake an accent and then,
I'd fake some orgasms and fake out some men!

Pull up my socks, go to the gym,
sleep with a jock, play life to win,
suck out some fat, suck in my cheeks,
suck up to money, not eat for weeks!

A "Professional" woman...that's what I'd be.
A "Professional" woman with professional fees.
But it's not like I really conspired to charge...
It's just that I'm forced to with a debt that's so large.

Quasimodem

Little Red Wagon

Illustration by David Scurr

Just thought I would share...an illustration and a story...

I was walking down the Danforth with two friends and happened upon a kid being pulled in a red wagon. Wished I had a red wagon to love.

Sometimes birthday wishes come true.

It's People Like YOU!

Illustration by David Scurr (One of my favorites)

It's People Like YOU!

God, it's people like you who poke fun at the quirks
and deny that religion has some pretty fine perks.
Using your wit to disembowel with a knife
the fantasy which enriches and fills up my life.

It's people like you who attempt to free
the demons who live deep in the being of me.
Without guilt, lust isn't much fun anymore;
gone is the excitement of the "Harlequin" lore.

It's people like you who screw up my T.V.
saying monsters like Dracula just couldn't be.
Without good, how can evil like that exist?
Thank-you dear atheist, I truly am pissed!

It's people like you who try to ruin the mood
of weddings and baptisms, and all that good food.
Without these celebrations, I now drive my car,
for gone are the days of the open church bar.

It's people like you who take the fun out of dying.
I had a 50/50 chance of frying or flying.
So thanks very much for removing my soul,
without eternity I merely get dumped in a hole.

It's people like you who leave me with mortals
with feet made of clay with no heavenly portals.
Without faith I must deal with mere mortal men
and instead of prayer to lose weight I now use phen-fen

Quasimodem

You Felt Vaguely Familiar

Illustration by David Scurr

You Felt Vaguely Familiar

I sensed something peculiar
when reading your ad.
You felt vaguely familiar
symbiotic a tad.

You seemed...

The male esoteric
to my female abstruse.
We together, generic,
vague and obtuse.

Imagine...

Possibly, perhaps,
and perchance we might meet?
Object: recognize each other...
someplace like a street?

Two concrete?

Quasimodem

I've gone deep into my hard drive and retrieved some more of David's illustrations. For those who have read former entries, you may want to take a peek at some of the poems I posted earlier, they now have their corresponding illustrations.

And as aside...

A real ad that was forwarded to me by a friend

I enjoy simple tranquil moments: sitting near a fireplace or bomb fire, looking over the city at night and stargazing.

Let's put that one down in the "Life is Stranger than Fiction" category.

Call Me Old Fashioned

...actually call me what you want, but just call

Operator 34, we have a live one logged in

A visitor, great, come on in through the door,
Your presence excites me, it’s what this thing's for.
What do call yourself, tell me your name?
Don’t sweat it too much, they all sound the same.

Let's put this one down as John38495

I don’t talk to strangers, there’s more you must tell
To know where you live, heck that would be swell
Be it postal or zip, no dress code enforced
Just a few secs….(ding) identity endorsed.

Perfect, it's a gold American Express card...shit no, Platinum, Yee, haw! Overtime tonight boys!

My plan is to give you all you expect
I promise to keep you totally…err, heck
Hey, don’t call me a stalker, I know what you’ve seen,
and with virtual tracking, I'll know where you’ve been.

Direct his information to desperate_dogs-rus.com, moremoney_thanbrains.ca, and quasimodem_enterprizes.net

I’ll tell a few friends, I’m sure they should know:
your habits, your penchants, where you might go.
How bout we frequent your "Favourites" bar?
Tuff to erase us when we know who you are.

Where's that guy Tawny? Hey, put down the burrito and get yourself to the keyboard!

I know you’re a good guy and incredibly bred,
and if they should ask, say you were led.
Call me your “Pay Pal”, just an old fashioned girl,
and deny you've been paying a modern day “URL”?

Idiot!

Quasimodem

Sorry mom, but it's that damned Catholic upbringing...how can
it be wrong when it feels so good to be bad?

Post Hummus

Illustration by David Scurr

Does anyone remember the "Fantastic Four"?

A "Marvel"ous description for those unfamiliar...

While attempting to investigate a strange disturbance in space, Reed Richards, his wife Sue, her brother Johnny Storm, and his best friend Ben Grimm were thrown off course when their ship was bombarded by cosmic rays.

The accident altered their bodies in strange ways, Reed could now stretch and mold his body into any shape he pleased; Sue had the ability to turn herself and objects around her invisible; Johnny could create and manipulate flames and Ben was permanently turned into an ugly, orange rocked creature with barbaric strength. Together, with their new found powers, they began battling evil and exploring the unknown.

In the 60's you needed a cosmic storm, today, men such as "Bill" provide the "Gates" to unlimited opportunity to wield these same powers...and virtually all have the power to "post".

This is my story...(You can feel a little afraid right now, I know I am)

Post Hummus

I stepped in the room and guess what I found?
Four proper pedestals rising up from the ground.
And teetering on top were four intellectuals:
I felt rather small...one might say ineffectual.

The pillars, it seemed were quite the erections,
making those perched on top, free from inspection.
Curiosity took hold, I was driven to find
the stuff which made up, such lofty great minds.

What happened next? Well I don't like to boast,
I could not resist, I pushed the damned "posts".
They fell and exploded, it seems I'd been duped!
My intellectuals, were vegetables, chock full of poop.

Quasimodem

Stretch Armstrong

The background story...

My friend David Scurr, now deceased, was doing a late night radio show. He was obsessed at the time with the popular "Stretch Armstrong" action figure, and intrigued by the recent recall of some talking Barbies. It seems that a major backlash ensued because the Barbies squeaked out the phrase, "Math is Tough". Personally, I am with Barbie for that one, never thought I'd agree with her, but I digress...

He asked me to write a poem that incorporated both elements. I did, and so I give you...

Stretch Armstrong

It was a-typical Saturday, bout quarter to one,
I ate at McDonalds and when I was done
I fed my pet rock, pushed aside Rubik's cube,
kicked off my Keds, and turned on the tube.

Between the cartoons, I managed to find
the perfect companion; the flexible kind
of man that I kneaded and he went for a song.
Stretch was his first name, last one, Armstrong.

The price I had paid for my fatal attraction
was under ten bucks for my figure of action.
I became a Madonna to a willing boy toy
with no need to be charming, dis-arming or coy!

Willing and able to fill all my kneads,
in the palm of my hand, that man indeed
took manipulation well. There was no cause to beg,
to twist his right arm, bend his ear, pull his leg.

He stopped listening one day to all my demands
so I bit off his head, buried it in the sand
went back to normal, played Barbie and then,
cleaned up, redressed and married a Ken.

His trademark impressed me, what can I say?
I'm shallow, a yuppie, I am to this day
obsessed with the toys, but life ain't so ruff
At least men are easy even though Math is Tuff!

Quasimodem

Have you ever had someone who believed in you so much, and left you...

believing?

I miss you David

In other postings I will include illustrations that David created for my poems. He had given them to me on air, on my birthday. He was a great supporter of anything I would write, not unlike Anne De Haas, the photographer with a link on this site. The illustration of the red dress is one of his much cherished cartoons he created for me. Funny thing is, he rendered the picture just as the red dress exists, and he had never seen it.

Funny that the two poems I wrote for David don't have an illustration associated with them. The poem I wrote specifically about David and thanking him for his support in my life, is lost. I don't know where I put it.

Maybe it's with him.

...and this concludes our Maudlin Moment, stop in every twenty-eight days for subsequent installments.

Quasimodem

Persona Non Grata...Part 1

It started with a sign...

I was in desperate need of two things, money and a job. The sign in the storefront window offered both. I took control of my life, opened the door and entered. Boy, was I nervous!

Sitting behind a desk, in front of a computer monitor was a man who looked like a cross between a pet rock, and a pet maggot; white, glistening and not moving too swiftly. His nametag read "Studman". I smoothed out my dress, breathed through my mouth, and approached him, right hand extended, left had clutching my car keys.

I squeaked...

Me-Mr. Studman?

Man- Oh yeah, right...(burp) Studman. Sorry bout that, but that's my online name. My real name is Walter Primate. You must be here for the 8-} writer's job. Sit down and I'll fill you in. Do you have a hard drive to work?

I told him I could provide my own hard drive, but not much else. I was told not to worry, he could supply everything I needed to get started, but kept reminding me that I 'd have to pay the sponsoring companies after thirty days. I don't know, something about the concept of "Shareware" sounded unsanitary. I mean, how many people had used these things before me? Oh well, maybe if I covered my computer with lots of paper I wouldn't have to actually touch the stuff.

I thought of my mother. I thought of Lysol. I thought of leaving.

He went on to explain...

Man- You'll be working on commission, $5.00 for every message you pull in, and I get $2.00 of that, so needless to say the password is volume. The people who pay your salary are: the phone company for running up phone bills, the computer company for building their business...Oh yeah, and the shareware company, for the money that you WILL be giving them for the use of their property. ;-)

(Bleck!...did he just wink at me?...I think I am going to be sick)

To be continued....

Persona Non Grata...Part 2

Man-Your training starts now. Lesson one, subliminal messages. With the aid of subliminal messages, users equate on-line time with sexual fulfillment. Your posts should include the words:hard drive, enter, shift, control, insert, ram, bytes, log on, upload, header and newbie as much as possible.

Me-Newbie...like in nubile?

Man-You catch on quick honey! ;-)

Me- :-(

Man- ;-)~

Me-8-Q

Man-Your messages must be 15 words or less, have a minimum of 8 spelling errors and include something personal, like the fact that you have large breasts.

Me-But I don't have large breasts.

Man-No Problemo, we'll just pick you up a stacker, most gals use them.

Me-But I've heard that some girls have experienced problems using them, corrupted files and all, and that many women actually had to have it removed! The extra space is great but, is it healthy?

Man-Oh, you're talking about the old stackers, technology has come a long way baby! Don't worry.

Me-If you say so, but I'm still not too sure about this.

To be continued.....

Persona Non Grata...Part 3

Man- You'll do just fine, stick with me Babe, besides most of these guys just want to talk, so "virtually" all you have to do is lay back, relax and pick up your commission at the end of the month. You're just a hacker now, but when you become professional you'll be venturing into the echoes to work the conferences. Oh, don't look so shocked! It's not as if you haven't written a note here and there in your life without being paid, besides I'll throw in a virus check for free. I'll scan your hard drive myself if ya don't know how. Any way, the better sites are generally clean, mostly college boys burning the midnight oil...har...har...har. Oh ya, before I forget, don't let the lurkers phase ya. They just like to watch. You'll get used to them, and if ya get lonely you could always send ME a free message...he he he...just to keep in touch ;-D~

Me- Oh God I can't look !-#

Months pass...

Please don't think anything less of me, I took the job. I was desperate. At first it was difficult doing it with strangers, but eventually I became addicted to the lure of easy money. By December I had 6 girls working under me. One of my most popular girls was a guy who worked under the alias "Tawny".

My downfall came when I became greedy, I wanted it all. I decided to start up a quality service of my own. I said ta ta to "the man", and sunk all of my earnings into the new venture. I knew what men wanted! I drove the old girls back to public school, did my research, and hired educated, strong and honest women; women who weren't afraid to voice their opinions.

The result...

I'm in desperate need of money and a job...AGAIN!

The End

Quasimodem

Soul Message

Illustration by David Scurr

Soul Message

It was a regular morning, nothing new to report
on the day that I met my sinister cohort.
He appeared as a vision and slid by my computer;
you couldn't imagine a more delectable suitor.

He said he could make me more popular than god,
deliver tons of friends, hey, that was his job.
He'd stay with me, he was there to consult.
I said, "I hate to be rude, but it sounds like a cult".

He told me my quest and the name of the game,
he said that "messaging" would render me fame.
It wouldn't cost a thing, not even a dime,
all he needed at first, was a fraction of time. ;^}

"Oh really" I said, "How much time do you need?"
"The first installment he said, "was my first daily feed."
"My breakfast" I gasped, "that important first meal?"
Oh who cares, what the heck, I said "It's a deal!"

Hey, it was great, my popularity did abound.
I had gained lots of friends, and lost a few pounds.
But my companion grew hungry, he needed more.
He requested more time to settle the score.

I relinquished my job, my parents, my phone,
my baths, my hygiene, I would not be alone!
My messaging friends, they had to thrive.
They numbered one thousand, one hundred and five!

My personal time grew shorter and shorter,
my health was fading, my life had no order.
My eyes were bugged out, I never could sleep...
I couldn't get out, I had sunk way too deep.

The stakes now were doubled, and I had to lie.
I revealed in a post to one eager young guy,
I resembled Cindy Crawford, yeah, that was the truth!
I then turned to the side, and spat out a tooth!

This resembled the game in the garden of Eden,
I could not endure, I pleaded for freedom.
I turned from a woman to a dos shell of myself.
I turned towards my Adonis, he turned into an elf.

Oh, the elf wore a sneer, the most wicked of grins.
He spat at my face screaming "excess is a sin!"
He tossed me a blindfold and a last cigarette
saying "So tell me STUPID, did ya get the MESSAGE YET?

............Quasimodem

Remembering the Old B.B.S. Building...

Prelude:

Somewhere between the internet being used for serious use by the military, and the way it's used now, was the era of the B.B.S.'s!

(Bulletin Board Systems)

Young boys who used to play with erector sets, I hope I got that right, moved onto "hosting"

mini forums ( B.B.S.'s), through (usually) a single dial-up phone line

(and the brave boys chose that to explain to their parents) that attached to their computer.

Rudimentary, and a heck of a lot of fun, it was my foray, flanked by my buddy, into this medium. We frequented a small board, manned by a young boy named Brad, and were probably the only members over the age of 16. One at a time, you could chat online with the "sysop"(system operator, Brad in this case), play a game, leave a message on the "board", get kicked off, argue, have your poems stolen, download a reader or newsgroup, pretend you are a rabid monkey or hot princess. It was play!

The B.B.S. "virtual building" doesn't exist anymore but it did once in cyberspace.

Who would have thought that those cute little B.B.S.'s would grow into the monster internet that it is now. I remember when it was cute! Guess that's why animals eat their young.

The Old B.B.S. Building

I know the phrase is worn, but it really DOES seems like it was yesterday...

It was 1993, or was it 94', when my buddy and I happened upon, what used to be, the old B.B.S. building. I'm trying to remember all the details but, as I said, it was awhile ago.

I had an old 286 at the time, been through a lot of crashes, but it was a means of transportation for two bored housewives looking for something that hadn't existed before they arrived. You wouldn't recognize the block now, but at that time most small dives that peppered the area had single lines to get in... heck lucky if there were two, and they weren't necessarily the better joints.

and..believe it or not, most of the places were owned by minors! My friend and I were drawn to a place that had a sign saying that they served adults. How could we resist? It was the only place that served over aged women. We were somewhat naive at the time but...

We went in...

The proprietor, he called himself a sysop, was a fifteen year old. He was so bright, yet alone and we couldn't understand why. What was his name again? Brad! Yeah, that was his name. Nice kid.

And the place was so quiet...

You could hear a pin drop. I almost expected one of the throngs to stand up and whisper "I am a teenage male, I love my computer and (choke) I am an introvert. I'm sure all heads would bob in unison. I know I would say HERE, HERE! (sorry for shouting) Oh, and in the corner there was a cheap version of some video game and a message board, all well loved.

I think women were afraid to go in there, the men outnumbered them about fifteen to one. The truth is they were mostly kindly nerds, nothing to fear, and the worse that could happen to you was an occasional bout of a "Ping Pong" virus. I don't have to tell you what's out there now.

And you knew everyone...

Okay, maybe not everyone, but most. I did get to know one guy there. You might of missed him if you didn't really look. He ended up being a close friend; stood up for him at a wedding years later, talented, loving, perhaps overlooked in a different venue, but what a beacon there.

They say you never can go back...

Sure yah can, but don't expect things to stay the same. In this story they didn't.

The place had been taken over by a conglomerate: clean, slick, shiny, cold. There's even an e-bay next door, and though things seem pristine, there's an element that keeps popping up, hard to put an end to that.

The mix changed; there were plenty of women there and a hell of a lot of them bored housewives. I hear that those types make a piss pot full of money. I keep getting letters suggesting I might be interested in one. Interested?! Shit, I used to be one.

I did run into Brad, the owner of the old place. Get this, he is about 30 right now. Can you believe it? Ends up he had suffered from Tourrettes. Never would have known it. Talked about how cruel kids used to be, heck and we thought it was just teenage angst back then. Live and learn. There's a modern day lesson in there somewhere.

Anyway...

My buddy is now a photographer, I'm no longer married and the beacon doesn't exist, at least not on this earth.

It's not the same, but then again, I'm not either. Besides, I wouldn't have met you if not for this journey.

Perhaps we can chat later. I'll throw in a virus check for free if ya get bored. ; -}~

It's not like I didn't pick up something from Walter Primate.

Quasimodem

Note:

So, yes, I did run into Brad one day, the result of a search, and found that he indeed had Tourrettes when he was a kid. It gave a face to those I write to, or a least the realization, that what we see here is only scratching the surface. "People" are writing this stuff.

My buddy is the photographer of this site, the beacon the illustrator.

So started my love affair with the internet, evolving today, as I write, almost full circle...but as most of us know, there is nothing like our first love. For me, that was a simple B.B.S..