Date: Tue, 30 Dec 1997 05:16:33 +0000 Comments: Authenticated sender is From: An Expert Witness Subject: INTRO: Who is this guy? They huddle around the fire-- little more than a spark in the vast virtual darkness of their universe-- this band of siblings of different parents, united by one primary passion. Some are redaily seen, well-defined and familiar. Some are little more than vague impressions, lurking at the outskirts of the light. All listen intently, however, as any member of their tribe begins a new tale, for that is their purpose. Suddenly, there is a movement in the group, more sensed than actually experienced. Something is different, yet very much the way it should be. Some senior members of the tribe smile, while newer members wonder what the hell just happened. They all look to the tribe shaman, busy as he is watching for stray sparks and other irritants, but he smiles inscrutably, nods reassuringly and tightening the obi on his kimono returns to keeping things the way they need to be. Finally the fox speaks up. "He's back," she says excitedly. "Who or what is this `he' that seems so strange, yet familiar in an odd sort of way," questions the group, without actually speaking. The coot in the corner says "The rightful owner of my throne, dang it all. Why does this always happen? I never shoulda quoted him,..." He continues to mutter, but all can tell he's actually relieved-- it's just the way of curmudgeons like himself to kvetch. Just then the wood sprite dances out of her tree, in a vaguely canine manner, and around the fire, saying, "I've met him! I've met him! And it was oh so fine! I've met him! I've met him! He is a friend of mine! I've met him! I've met him! He is a sight to see! I've met him! I've met him! He's tinier than me!" Giggling insanely, she scurries back into her tree before any can ask if that's possible. "I grok a wrongness in what my water-sister has said," says the Man from Mars, "I, too have met him, and tininess, it is NOT him." From out of the frozen northwest the sound of a soap box being drug is heard. Some cringe, but most turn attentively to see what her highness has to say THIS time. "Be it known to all members here present that sherlock@ksu.edu, also known as: an expert witness; Billiam; Thany; and many other names beneath my dignity to repeat, lives once again. He has actually never died, but has been stalking the internet lo these many years, busy with other concerns. But now, as I stated earlier, he's back home." Having finished this latest pronouncement, she steps off of her soap box, sits down on it, and pulls up a table full of doughnuts and coffee, to watch and see what happens next. "So why does `he' not introduce himself, as is only polite?" questions the tribe. Off in real world, in a zone of great flatness, `he' stretches. He arises, and puts on a Harry Nilsson CD. Pouring himself yet another glass of diet root beer, he sit back down at his communicator to finish this which has caused him to arise while the sun is not yet even a suggestion in the east. This image of a tribe exchanging tales around a fire must be expressed or he'll never get any rest. Looking into his face, you can see where and why one of his cousins had said, upon meeting him after a considerable interval, that he had lived such a "colorful" life. Granted, he'd been everything from a garbage man to a poet (two not unsimilar professions), including a steel mill worker, soldier, policeman, and a journalist,but he'd never thought of it as colorful. It was just his life. Sleep, or the lack thereof, begins to catch up with him. He'd best get this missive on it's happy electronic way. I'm back. Bill Sier sherlock@ksu.edu "The only difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits!" Bumper sticker, author unknown