With the aid of a poem, I breached the firewall at PARC
but was repelled by the sheer volume of accumulated messages.
The 376 messages on the WELL were shifting with vague unease -
like an old warm waterbed.
Every one on Arts Wire reached out with solid,
comforting snail mail.
Caffeine courses through Chris' body.
Tequila courses through mine.
I haven't had a decent cup of coffee
since before the accident.
The procedure is too arduous.
Stealthy I plugged in the 286
with dBase on my mind,
but the telephone rang.
"What is the Internet?"
Bill wanted to know.
forwards ..... backwards ..... link ...... or...... rewind