From: Qner
To: psaur, threeball, newpagan
Date: 7/12/98
Subject: Re: The proof of my unquenchable faith
Borges and Bukowski had a baby, and they named it Psaur. Ginsberg was the surrogate, his limber oriface barely allowing the passage of Paul's large head.
Our group is small but strange. I think we know the king.
I challenge all the distilleries in Russia and Sweden to make a vodka that could sodden the prose of Psaur.
We are the babbling monkies in the head of today. Paul wears the crown.
Hail king monkey!
Brian
(I dug up a bunch of old emails of our small but strange gang pre-blogging with each other in the late 90s. Post-Golden Age of Report to Hell, though our prose and poetry have undoubtedly improved since then. Ours was an output to be appreciated, or exploited, more by the New Yorker or Paris Review types, as opposed to say, the City Lights crowd. I am, of course, talking, uh, bullshit.)
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