Her mouth was so small it might have sealed over in a moment of
forgetfulness. She talked constantly, as if in awareness and mortal dread of
My collapse, she intimated, was moral. Psychosomatic? I said. But that
wasn't what she meant. As in Victorian fiction, the loss of a female
character's reputation can only be followed by madness and death, the body
sinking into a swoon and from a swoon into a fever, so my moral fragility
was a directly physical phenomenon. I could start leaking at any moment.
Is there no cure? I asked with what I took to be an appearance of
nonchalance. At this she looked stern. Such talk, she said, was symptomatic
of the root disorder. I must stop regarding myself as an invalid in need of
treatment, still less a sufferer of pathologies for which a cure might or
might not be found. My longing for the sickbed, for convalescence and
recovery, for *her*, was unrealistic and unacceptable.
I don't know what you mean, I said. And by the way, your skin is awful.
--> Knowledge is the pursuit of ignorance by other means <--
----- Original Message -----
From: "Candice Ward" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, February 24, 2002 1:16 AM
Subject: Re: Hoaxes and Heteronymity interview
> Say, Foxer, o lyricist extraordinaire, did that nurse have bad skin, by
> chance? Somebody told me a nurse was going around with my name but alas
> alacking the oirish tincture--helluva thing! And then there's the grief
> counselor, and the empress of parking spaces at some university....
> none of them seems to have my big mouth--Candice
> on 2/23/02 7:34 PM, domfox at [log in to unmask] wrote:
> > "Listen Palmer," he said later. The way he said "listen" was meant to
> > urgent. Actually it made him sound drunk, which he was. Palmer, who was
> > drunk also, leaned over the table in the Horse and Jockey with a feigned
> > look of concentration on his face. He had not paid the slightest
> > to anything Dom had said for the past three-quarters of an hour.
> > "Are you listening? You'd better be..."
> > "I'm listening. I'm listening. How's your pint?"
> > "Better than the last one. I spilled that, you know."
> > "I know, old man. I know. I need to piss. Quite urgently, as it
> > "Well get a move on then. And then come back here and listen to what I
> > to say."
> > Palmer stood up and lurched in the direction of the toilets. Dom started
> > rolling a cigarette, using Palmer's tobacco and Rizla papers which he
> > left on the table. He was still making an awful job of it when Palmer
> > returned. "Where was I?" Palmer said.
> > "You were about to listen to something. That I was about to say. Damn
> > Rizlas, I think they're damp."
> > "I think somebody spilled beer on them. What were you about to say?"
> > "Is that cigarette machine over there working?"
> > "Is that it?"
> > "No of course it's not. I just want a cigarette, and I can't get this
> > paper to stick together properly."
> > "You don't smoke."
> > "No, but you do. In a minute you'll want another, and you won't be able
> > have one, because these Rizla papers of yours are damp. So go and buy a
> > packet of B&H, there's a good chap. And lend me one."
> > "In a minute. I'm on tenterhooks. Literally. I want to know what it was
> > were going to tell me."
> > "That nurse..."
> > "I didn't think she was that good-looking."
> > "You misunderstand me. I think she may be working for us."
> > "Quite likely. She was in the infirmary at the ministry, after all.
> > one of our staff uniforms. Oh for heaven's sake, give me that."
> > Parker snatched the failed cigarette out of Dom's hand, nearly spilling
> > was left of both their pints in the process. He emptied the tobacco from
> > damp Rizla paper into his tobacco pouch, then closed the pouch and
> > away in his pocket. "Better get some from the machine I suppose. This
> > nurse?"
> > "I don't think she was actually a nurse."
> > "I see. But working for us, all the same?"
> > "Yes. That's what I'm worried about..."