On awaking in the morning John discovered he had accidentally slept on Marsha's pet cat. Sadly, it was dead. Marsha was in the kitchen making waffles. John decided that he would take the dead cat outside and pretend that it had run into the street and been run over. With cat in hand he slipped out the debroom door and down the hall. He had to pass by the kitchen in order to get outside, unfortunately Marsha looked and saw the cat. John ran back down the hall and into the bathroom with Martha screaming after him.

    "My cat! My cat!" she shrieked in rage. John locked himself in the bathroom.

    "What have you done to my precious kitty?!"

    "You inhuman fiend, how dare you hurt my precious fuzzy-baby?!!"

    John tried to flush the cat down the toilet.

   "What are you doing to my cat? Come out here this instant," her voice was taking on sinister tones.

   "I'm just giving it a little fleabath, Marshie-honey" he soothed and then, to the cat, "Flush, dammit, you god-damned furball."


Marsha went away from the door, John thought perhaps everything would be alright. He took the dripping feline out of the toilet and put it in the sink. Then he opened the window. Marsha returned, she started to force the door open with a crow bar. John grabbed the cat and climbed out the window onto the roof.

    "I've got you now," cried Marsha as the door splintered open. John scurried along the roof top and eyed the distance to the neighbor's roof. Marsha was struggling out the window. John decided to go for it. He leaped and landed on the other rooftop, the cat remained in one piece. Marsha came after him and, with grace surpassing Indiana Jones, sailed after John and the much abused cat. John high-tailed it away across the tar and gravel still holding the damp cat in his hand.

    "Come back here you cat-murderer! I'll rip your lungs out!" Marsha was gaining on him. John doubled back around some chimneys.

    "Now, now, dear. Be reasonable. We can give kitty a nice funeral. Everything will be just fine," John shifted the cat to his other hand while he talked.

    "I'll give you a nice funeral, you creep!" Marsha tried to grab the cat by reaching across the chimney.

    John feinted to the left with the cat and as Marsha dived he transferred the cat to his right hand and threw it down the chimney.


    They both stopped and stared down the sooty black hole.

    "You just threw a dead cat down Mrs. Entwhistle's chimney."

    "Yeah, I guess I did. Maybe we better go back inside before anyone sees us."

    "Oh, you're right. This is a little strange."

As they clambered back to the bathroom, John tried to make amends.

    "Marsha, I really am sorry about the cat, it's just, well, you know how it is. I didn't want you to think I'd done it on purpose."

    "That's ok. She was getting old anyhow. Besides I've always wanted a dog."

    "I'll buy you one right away, my sweet."

    "Alright dear, but it's not sleeping on the bed."

Moral: A cat down your chimney is worth two in your bed.


My word, but that moral turned out much lewder than I intended. What would Dr. Freud say?


F + SF

roots of SF goes way back.

"Speculative fiction is the only fiction that deals with modern society."

Originally all fiction was speculative fiction. Up to 18th century people weren't sure what was true. Old writers didn't think they were writing absolute fiction.

The meanest thing I’ve ever done

    I don't know why I did it. They were nice children, but I couldn't stand it anymore.

    It all began on one of those wonderful lazy summer mornings. I was sleeping, it was about 7:30am and I planned to sleep for at least 3 more hours. When the noise began. It started slowly, they got ready in silence without much splashing or yelling. Then at the pool across the street, it began.


"huh? what? what time is it? where am I?" I woke up. It was the swim team. Now they did this every morning: shouting, firing starter guns, splashing. Early in the morning they would began [sic] and I wouldn't be able to sleep late.

    First, in order to stop them, I vaselined the diving boards, especially the rungs. I figured that if they broke enough limbs they would stop swimming. Unfortunately their feet were so ripped up by the bottom of the pool that they could still get traction.

    I decided to cut up their lane dividers. They had replacements. So I tried padlocking the pool gates shut. They climbed over the fence. I was becoming desperate. In my last frenzied moments I procured a 1/2 a ton of lime jello. In the dark of night I went to work. Soon the pool was one quivering green mass.

    I waited, watching, grinning fiendishly until they arrived. They had those dumb goggles on and so they couldn't tell the difference. They jumped in and got stuck. It was like those artists conceptions of the dinosaurs getting sucked down into tar pits. It was incredible, 37 people were 'jello'ed to death. The police caught up with me in less than 3 hours. I was the only person in Martinez who had bought such a quantity of jello. I don't know what they will do to me, but I would do the same again. I hope that all who read this will learn to be more mysterious when buying jello.


ou = no or not

topos = place

no place

1) prisoner

2) sentenced to freedom (+ choice)

3) the burden of choice or lack of

Aldous leonard Huxley July 26 1984 b. England

Eton left due to near blindness, glad he didn't become doctor. Satirical novelist popular before age 30. Came to U.S. in 1937 died same day as Kennedy age 69.

Writing Exercise For School

Dinah Sanders
Core Group

Dear Olivia [one of our teachers],

Our teacher is too irresponsible and seems to have gone insane. He does not seem to be able to withstand the strain of his position. He has lost what control he may have had over his classes. Let me quote him; Scott Stewart brought his breakfast into class and Lisa Fassl complained about him not sharing; Jack [Mingo] said: “If only Jesus were here he could make this into enough food for the multitudes.”

He opens his class by leaning out the door and saying: “Hey kids, guess what time it is?” To which his class and several other classes responded; “It’s Howdy Doody time!”

During class he said:
“I’ve been getting off on your journals.”
“Chuckle, chuckle.”
“Can you get me a date with Toni Tenielle?”
“I used to play keyboards and listen to Beach Boys records.”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to get enlightenment from yourself.”
“I have enemies everywhere, enemies and spies.”
“I shove it in and it gives me money.”
“Whip it.”
“I wanna hold your rat.”

The record speaks for itself. I rest my case.
[signed] Dinah Sanders

[Below this in another set of much better handwriting] Would you like to be on the personnell [sic] committee to review this man’s employment. O

[at the bottom of the page in my writing] Just kidding, folks

The Silly Things they do at Hippy Schools

Hello, welcome back! [This was the first entry after 5 blank days in this diary] Leaving you downstairs wasn’t very nice of me. Sorry.

G’night. [crossed out]

Oh yea. I recalled past lives today.
1893-1964 – Alice [The name of my favorite teacher. What a stunning coincidence.]
Around 1700 – A pioneer man with a wife and a cabin in the woods [One of my favorite books as a kid: Little House in the Big Woods]
1500 – A cart horse [Favorite toys: a bunch of plastic animals, among them two cart horses (which I just remembered I had named Columbia and Victoria)]
? AD – A panther [A dramatic story involving which takes place in the above mentioned book]
B.C. – A short-lived hunting dog. [And I’d just finished reading The Plague Dogs]


[It’ll be interesting to see if later entries in journals reflect my growing scepticism.]