>From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Interface
Date: 1 Nov 90 19:01:12 GMT

A woman peers into a glowing screen muttering to herself,  "Interface...
damnit, they're talking *interface* and they don't even see what's in
front of their eyes.   They want an interface that jacks right into their
minds and they completely ignore the one that they've been taught from the
day they learned to speak.  Shit," she says softly, and then shivers with
the dare she's about to take.  "Guess I'm gonna have to show 'em."

--------

And a figure appears in the middle of alt.cyberpunk.  Those who see it aren't 
quite sure if it is a male or female figure.  It is, however, Asian, and
about 5'10" in height, slender, and short haired.  Dressed in a white
t-shirt, blue leather jacket, and black, acid-washed jeans, the clothing
doesn't make the distinction any easier. But then they catch the glittering
cascade of earrings made from an intricate pattern of hoops, and when she
speaks they know that it is a woman, for the voice is almost that of a
girl.  "Good Day." she says.  Her voice neutral, pleasant.  Her stance is
also neutral, balanced, her arms at her sides.

"I snuck a look at this group, today, and noticed your discussions on
interfaces, on what cyberspace looks like to various people, and on how
interfacing with the Net improved certain people's capability to
communicate with the written form of the English language.  I have to
admit that I'd been hoping to see a more, uhm..." she hesitates a moment
to think of how to say this, "imaginative proposition for interface to the
cyberspace that is the Net.

"I mean, sure, you're stuck with the English language, but the English
language has been supporting virtual realities for as long as it's been in
existance.  You already use it for input right to your imaginations, why
not use it for communication between yourselves?"

"I mean, hey," she shrugs, "all of the cyberpunk worlds, cities and
situations were created, reproduced, and transmitted through the written
word." then scowls, "And you're not about to tell me that I can't transmit
body language, expression or emotion through the huge bandwidth that the
English language extends.  Sure, if you just stick with the first-person
Lecture style, you're stuck without a face, without arms to wave around or
legs to walk with, but if you let go of that restriction... " She shrugs
again, and grins, "Heck, I may not be the Best at this kind of output, but
I think I can get by and communicate what it is that I want to say."

She turns toward John Kusters, "You asked how people saw cyberspace.  I'll
show you a little something of how I see one section of the present day
Net." She beckons, "Come on and Look."

And with the gesture, a window opens on a comfortable pub, well-lit,
completely smokeless.  At first, it looks like an ordinary bar.  Then the
people of alt.cyberpunk notice that the fireplace is full of broken glass,
an automated vacuum cleaner wanders about on its own, sucking up debris
and spitting out packets of peanut butter.  Green striped tiger kittens
play with warm fuzzies and a big black dog.

The patrons of this place are mostly human.  Mostly.  There is a great,
green tiger in the rafters.  Dragons of the Pernese variety congregate in
a corner.  One of the patrons looks like a indeterminate shadow, a student
laughs with someone that looks like Hercules, one is half feline half
human female, and another looks like any design engineer.  One entire wall
is filled with antique computer equipment, all interconnected, and on one
piece is a tall wizard's hat.  The patrons sit and talk about issues, each
others problems, trade jokes and puns and laughter.  They hug each other
and cry on each others shoulders.

All in virtual space.

Tim Maroney gets a whiff of body warmed leather, and the soft chime of
earrings sound behind him. Her voice is soft, musing, "Maybe Vinge had the
real answer.  Give humanity the ability to create whatever image it wants,
and it takes the images of its past, comfortable images of its myth and
legend, it will take the dragons, knights, witches and wizards, instead of
a cyberpunk.  Especially in a group where trust is the main thing holding
it together.  I mean, really, would you trust a blade bearing, mirror
eyed, purple haired punk over a woodland elf?"

"And the first newsgroup to take advantage of all that virtual reality
offers looks more like Vinge's vision than anything any cyber-writer ever
thought of.  And you say the cybervision is more real?"  She laughs,
softly, without malice, and then turns to the whole group.

"That's a newsgroup, folks." she says, dryly.  "A rather unique one, and
more fantasy oriented, to be sure, but it's something that exists Now and
Here." She looks behind her, finds a chair, and sits down, "I mean, hey,
virtual space can be a hell of a trip.  With a single paragraph you can be
Anywhere."

And she is sitting on the roof of a high rise, the wind a moaning through
the antenna, the wires, the lines about her.  The lights of the city below
her glow, reflecting off the clouds above, turning the darkness into
almost day.  Cars sound, faintly, below her.  A cat pads by, stopping to
look at her for a moment, before lithely bounding away.  A helicopter
rattles around her, a searchlight stabbing out at the lone figure on the
roof.

And it is all gone.

She sits a moment, her eyes half-closed, and sighs, "Look, I'm not saying
that you all have to communicate this way.  I know that I was told, for
the longest time, that I couldn't spell, that I couldn't Write." Her eyes
open, "I was on the Net for three years, and just picked it up again,
because after those first three years, I knew that if I HAD to say
something, I would find a way to say it.  And the more often I found that
way to say what I wanted to say, the better I got at it, the easier it
became.  That is how I measure my improvement, by how easy it is to say
what I really want to say.  I can readily sympathize with Vanessa Layne's
students, getting on the Net, with all the communciation and information
flowing around, there simply are times when one has GOT to say something.
And with the drive comes the courage to try it out."

"Maybe some of you will try this out.  Maybe create your own cyberspace
here.  This group's very own virtual reality, flavored with it's own
personalities, it's own people, it's own wants, needs and issues.  Many of
you have already taken Names." she looks at various .signatures, "Why not
BE them, here?  After all," she smiles, "it's all virtual..."

"Your choice."

And she disappears, like a hologram whose laser has been turned off.  But
left behind, like an after-image burned onto the retina, is a smoke-filled,
sound-filled bar on the edge of the Sprawl, with people moving through it,
as brightly colored as tropical fish, and deadly with the bright edge of
chrome, silicon and steel.
-- 
Liralen Li           | "Looking down on empty streets, all she can see are 
aka Phyllis Rostykus |  the dreams all made solid, are the dreams made real."
phyllis@eld.amc.com  |  - "Mercy Street" by Peter Gabriel 


>From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: Interface
Date: 2 Nov 90 21:38:00 GMT

In article <1990Nov2.060427.15202@bradley2.bradley.edu> pwh@bradley2.bradley.edu (Pete Hartman) writes:
>[ long description/example of alt.callahans deleted ]

Liralen looks up, carefully wipes out the 'alt.callahans' and replaces it
with 'English language'.  "Or you can fill alt.cyberpunk in there, if you
want.  The language isn't limited to just one newsgroup."  She chuckles
softly, "As I'm trying to show, here."

>well, that's certainly cool, and I respect it, however, you are
>overlooking a couple things:

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." she says, and then listens for what she
overlooked.

>1) that took a lot of work, no matter how effortless it may or may
>not have seemed to you.  Lots of people don't have patience to develop
>their writing skills beyond the bare minimums.  Unfortunately.

"So?"  Liralen leans forward in her chair, "Now, I'm not saying that what
you just said isn't the truth, it, unfortunately, is the truth.  I could
also tell you that it was actually *easier* for me to write that last piece
in reply to the dicussions, because I *couldn't* think of a more effective
way to say what I wanted to say.  I guess my only counterpoint is, that if
people want to communicate effectively, then they should use all the tools
that are at their disposal."

"Those aren't willing to learn their tools..." she shrugs, as sadness
flits over her face. "The only loss is the communication of their ideas."

>2) related to that you have the fact that a lot of people are now
>raised expecting things to be fast and easy like TV as opposed to 
>books.  I'm sure there are those who skipped your post simply because
>of it's size.
>
She frowns, "But aren't you all here because of books?  The only visual
references that I know of to cyberspace are Bladerunner, Max Headroom, and
Tron.  Other than that, isn't it all in books? In words?  Even the
character playing games are mostly from or with words, not actual, real
actions, places, and situations."

And then laughter, "And doesn't the Net *already* get huge postings that
some people don't bother to read?  Why not make them entertaining?"

"The other thing, about how long my post was." Liralen turns to face Pete, 
"My concern is, of the people who read it, how many got the simple point
that English can be a high-band width interface?  In just one day, I've
already gotten a half dozen replies in descriptive, third-person prose,
all of them wonderful reading, and all of them far better able to
communicate what the person feels about what I wrote.  I appreciate the
quote-unquote normal notes, a lot, too, but the BANDWIDTH is so very much
larger on the third-person notes, and most them them are only one or two
screenfuls."

"Finally, this reply is at most a dozen lines longer because of
descriptive lines, but doesn't it get my emotions across more thoroughly
than if I hadn't added a few extra words?" One eyebrow goes up, waiting.

>The point is this:  a direct brain or other high-tech interface would make 
>all of one's day-to-day reflexes quickly (if not immediately) applicable
>to the virtual space.  

"I have to admit that I think this will only be applicable to data
manipulation.  Not communication with other human beings.  But then
graphical, spacial, representations of numerical items has a long and
honorable tradition, already."  She chuckles, remembering all those
calculus problems that made no sense at all until one of the other student
had started using wire to build models of certain problems.

"Also, I've been working in the neural networks field, and from what I've
seen, I'd say that it wouldn't be either immediate or quick, most likely,
for true, effective use of such an interface, the person would have had to
have grown up with it."

>This space does not allow that--you have to translate 
>it into the language of the medium; a medium that was not initially 
>developed with "virtual reality" in mind.  It would be nice to be able
>to develop an interface/medium/"language" if you will that would be
>"intuitive" and not require the additional steps of translation into
>english sentences and re-translation (with attendendant possible information
>loss) back into concepts at the far end.

She sighs.  "It sounds to me like you're talking telepathy.  I'm not saying
that that wouldn't be nice to have.  And I wasn't talking about future
potentials.  I was talking here and now, and getting most out of the only
medium we got going."

"I beg to differ on what language was 'designed' to do.  All human
languages were designed to convey concepts, convey experiences that the
communicatee could not or had not experienced.  And through the simple act
of translation, the reality, instantly, becomes virtual."

She frowns in concentration, trying to think of the words, "I mean, in any
real life situation, there are millions of possible points of visual,
sound, and tactile data.  Data is ALWAYS getting lost on it's way into our
minds.  Why should the interface to those very same minds be any
different?  Or, I guess the real question is, how can you assume our MINDS
will be any different in dealing with the influx of data from any outside
point?"  She looks up, into his eyes, "Do you get what I mean?"

-- 
Liralen Li           | "Looking down on empty streets, all she can see are 
aka Phyllis Rostykus |  the dreams all made solid, are the dreams made real."
phyllis@eld.amc.com  |  - "Mercy Street" by Peter Gabriel 


>From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: Interface
Date: 2 Nov 90 22:08:49 GMT

In article  Christian.Molick@CS.CMU.EDU writes:
>There is a problem with the text-only approach, though, and it
>is strikingly clear in your essay. For most of the people on the
>net reading this it will take longer, if only by a few tens of
>seconds, to read your essay than it will to simply see it.

"'A picture is worth a thousand words.'" Liralen says softly.  "And how 
many pictures would it take to communicate what you just said, above?

"Or, another way of looking at it, how many movies made from books are
*really* good?" she chuckles and makes like she's defending herself from
weapons of all sorts,  "Sorry, sorry, don't mean to start a religious
discussion.  But, I mean, really, how many movies have completely destroyed
your imagery of what was in a book?"

"Sometimes, though, it works, and I think that you *are* correct, that
visual images are best transmitted visually. Often the books that best
translate into movies, comicbooks, and the like are those who have authors
who are very visually oriented.  And you are right in saying that
transmitting visual and audio experiences is more quickly done in those
mediums.  But, then," something shines behind her eyes, "what is the color
of pain or the sound of sorrow?"

Then, quietly, "I think I'll still maintain that for general types of 
communication, text can be pretty darned useful."

-- 
Liralen Li           | "Looking down on empty streets, all she can see are 
aka Phyllis Rostykus |  the dreams all made solid, are the dreams made real."
phyllis@eld.amc.com  |  - "Mercy Street" by Peter Gabriel 


>From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: Dataflow (was -> Re: Interface)
Date: 9 Nov 90 02:24:59 GMT


   Liralen follows Erich out into the storm. It is already wet and a
bit uncomfortably cold, not to mention the strong wind.  "This is what I
see coming," he shouts over the noise, "a storm of information that I
don't have the audacity to say I could handle unaided."  He comes closer
you notice his facial expression has changed and has a somewhat maniacal
look to it, or maybe driven is a better desciption...  "You can sit inside
and stay in the domains that could be handled before with only so much
information at hand, but I can't ignore draw of this kind of...  well...
*power*, really.  It is almost magnetic, but one cannot weather a storm
without help."  

   She nods, both understanding and an empathy for his driven feeling.  She
has worked five years in artificial neural network research with the hope
that, someday, such aid might, someday, become hers.

   He looks down at his hands and rubs them a bit, then smiles wryly and 
says, "I tend to think that the interfaces would have to be almost an
artificial cortex of sorts, or extremely adaptive in the least, to be very
useful...  oh well.  It would be an achievement in itself."  He sighs
wistfully.  "But lets get back inside"

   They go back inside.  

   And, as they get some food and drink, she is silent, thinking of how to
say what she wants to say.  "I think you're on the right track, but then
that's what I've been trying to work towards, someday." But the look on
her face is frustrated, tired.  "It's just feels so very, very far away,
sometimes."  Liralen is silent for a long moment.

   "I never meant to put down people's dreams for the furture.  I never
said that I thought a-v interfaces wouldn't be possible, someday.  I'm just
greedy, now, for a wider bandwidth, more information than what I was
getting, here.  As Jon pointed out, people will push the limits of whatever
medium they get, and what I wanted to do was push the limits of this
medium.  I never intended to say that I didn't think that other mediums
couldn't be developed." she sighs, "I guess I didn't get that across too
well the first three times."

   She looks off into one corner, playing with her food a little, "I mean,
I'd give a lot to have an interface directly into anothers emotions,
anothers thoughts, and I can do a little of it through text, but if there
were actually a system that could support the entire endocrine system as
well as the centers of the MIND, that system would have to be completely
adaptable to each individual, because each person's system is different.
Neat thing, though is that humans are adaptable, but I worry, a little,
about just how far they can or cannot go."

   After getting something warm in his stomach Erich says, "You're right, 
you know...  we would have to be almost specially trained to handle these
interfaces, smart as they may be to fill their function in the first
place, but isn't that what this place is anyway?"  He spreads his hands
with an open expression...

   She chuckles.  "Yeah.  I think so."

   Liralen looks around, and suddenly a couple of other people bring a bar
into alt.cyberpunk.  An amazing hardware hacker puts together an amazing
system in his corner of the space.  Others join their conversation...  and
Liralen smiles, glad to see them, glad to share their creations with them.

   "You know, I thought I'd just answer one more article, and then quit
this place.  I'd forgotten how argumentative the regular Net could be, and
my skin's thin from two years of not being on the regular Net.  Some of the
sideswipes HURT.  But then, tonight, I saw all this happen.  I'm glad.
And, I think, I'll just thicken my skin a little, and I think I'll stay for
a while and see what else develops."  Liralen smiles.

   And her jeans turn into leather pants of the same indigo blue shade as
her jacket, the sneakers become blue-black, knee high boots.  Her brown
eyes turn steel-blue, and her nails grow and are laquered the same deep
blue.  Fingerless gloves of blue leather and steel chainmail appear on her
hands.  A matched pair of single bladed long knives show up, strapped to
her forearms, with small, intricate braids the color of her black, black
hair tieing them into their sheathes with a peace knot.

   And making sure that one of the bar's walls is at her back, she sits
back to watch the going ons in this particular place.
-- 
Liralen Li           | "Looking down on empty streets, all she can see are 
aka Phyllis Rostykus |  the dreams all made solid, are the dreams made real."
phyllis@eld.amc.com  |  - "Mercy Street" by Peter Gabriel 


>From: marauder@diku.dk (Stephan Dahl)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Literary Cyberspace
Date: 9 Nov 90 12:31:17 GMT


	Everything is an electric, angular kind of blue... A cold wind
sweeps from nowhere, while patterns coalesce around you... - Then attention 
focuses, lights dim and Space shrinks to a large room, made appear much
smaller by heaps of books (mainly Sci-Fi, a few about Minds & Machines), 
printouts, unwashed clothes and yestercycle's coffee mugs. The walls are 
partially white, partially wallpaper rags. A painting job is obviosly in 
progress, though judging from the layer of dust on the unopened paintcans
on the floor, it has been 'in progress' for a long time...

	Just then a faint scraping is heard, much like a long-clawed beast 
would make when walking on a wooden floor. There is a faint "Whumph" and a
complaining creak from a comfortably-looking chair, definitely not there 
scant moments ago. In the chair, looking ridiculously at ease with a 
steaming coffee mug in his claws, his sinuous tail draped over the armrest,
sits Marauder. He smiles, not particularly reassuring considering the amount
of teeth shown, and says, in a very human voice, 
	"I apologize for the mess, I'm still in the progress of creating My 
very own virtual reality - that's what you guys call it, right?".
 	He shifts deeper into the chair, ceiling spots casting reflexes off
his bluish-silver scales.
	"I prefer SubReal, for Subjective PseudoReality, but perhaps I
just haven't Grokked the Concept in its fullness yet!" Faint sparks outline
his reptilic shape as he laughs heartily.
	"Anyway, this CyberSpace is, at present tech stage, ALL SubReal,
so there... I am, of course, totally an Autonomous Entity with an Imagination 
of my own," (he flutters SubReal wings, which quickly fade out) "I'd still
like to say Hi and Thanks to someone
I'd like to consider a spiritual (or was that Virtual?) parent, as she (to
the best of my knowledge) introduced OnLine _Literary_ CyberSpace (she even
imagined Dragons - perceptive girl!). May I introduce (or reference? - what's
the term, anyway?) ** Liralen Li ** !"

	With both claws (his coffee mug safely placed on virtual air) 
Marauder draws a circle of lightening in the air. Sitting contendedly back
with his mug, He too watches as Local SubReality shrivel in the lightening-
defined circle, leaving a hole, or window, or something viewing a blurred,
but rapidly clearing, image of a figure...

>	It is, however, Asian, and about 5'10" in height, slender, and short
>	haired. Dressed in a white t-shirt, blue leather jacket, and black,
>	acid-washed jeans, the clothing doesn't make the distinction any
>	easier. But then they catch the glittering cascade of earrings made
>	from an intricate pattern of hoops, and when she speaks...

	Just then, the circle collapses with a PoP that's felt rather than
heard, and focus returns to the smiling Dragon.
	"Yes indeed, a guru to be proud of! While a Meta-Being (as seen from
here)" - a flicker, a vastness of blue awareness, a flicker - "did all the 
work, she provided the spark, the inspiration which is so important. I guess I
owe her My present Incarnation (or latest SubReal Implementation...). Thanks,
Liralen, Wherever you are."

	He stands, the chair fading into nothingness as He leaves it, and 
pads (Imagine a Dragon pad?) off to a recent-looking paper-and-books pile, 
picking up a spiral-back notebook. "Of Course, I didn't bother setting up
this-here external rep of My SubReal _just_ to say thanks. I'd also like to
comment a little on the other postings around here..." 
	The room fades away, at least one side does, leaving a wall, 
stretching apparently up towards infinity. On it is pasted (posted?) innumer-
able slips op paper, small and large. He picks a few, scanning their contents, 
saying 
	"OWAY@CORNELLA, curious name,guess it's some arcane code? You said 
something about Literary Cyberspace, to wit, Liralen, having to improve on 
language to make it worthwhile. I really don't think that's necessary: True, 
Realtime, Real Imaginings is Cool, but we don't have it, so until we do, this
is as nice a style as they come. I'll grant that text (cranky ol' English) is 
crude as compared to internal reality representation, but text relies on the 
_reader's_ reality rep to fill in the unavoidable blanks. This is not a 
liability at all, I think, but the reason that we still have Fiction after 
Cinemascope: Mind does _such_ a wonderful job, it doesn't matter if the 
writer's and the reader's perception of the 'message' differs somewhat (it 
does if you're writing user's manuals, but that's another matter...), if the 
writer is competent, sufficient data should come across to allow you to build 
a very detailed internal rep, and it's for _this_ you pay when you pay for 
W.T.Quick's latest opus."
	He takes a deep draught from the ever-present mug (quite a feat, 
considering the long snout), and continues,
	"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that if one allows one's imagina-
tion to kick in, texts such as Liralen's 'Interface' carry a convincing
beauty you _don't_ find in 20-liners filled with > >>'s, @'s and :-)'s. Don't 
get me wrong, I read those too, but I like Liralen's style better."

	He continues padding, softly scraping, along the endless length of the 
Board, His glittering eyes halflidded in thought, then snaps his claws with a
CliC! that echoes faintly through the room (no larger now, even with one vir-
tually infinite wall).
	"Ah Yes, Dave Newton! You question the point of CyberTech, or perhaps
the point in discussing it... I'm not sure which. Anyway, to both questions:
Why does there have to _be_ a point? What is the point of quasars? why do we 
discuss quarks and anti-muons?"
	He pauses, faintly smiling as He stares into some MayBe.
	"First, Foremost & Ever In Mind: We like it! If we like thinking about 
it, imagining it, well cool all by itself! But more serious, if we go on 
imagining, pretty soon someone will implement it (believing that it _can_ be
done is halfway there), we'll live in it and _then_ you bet a point will be 
made! After all, what is the point of EGA, when one has teletypers? Really,
Cyberspace is just the next step up."

	The Dragon stretches luxuriantly, rippling cords of muscle sending
reflexes and randomized lightening flickering about.
	"I guess that concludes today's lecture, and thanx U all for your
indulgence. I hope next we meet I'll have this place jazzed up a little more
nice..."
	Mellow Sax suddenly fills the room, the board now vanished, the 
lights dimmed to a strange, morning-fog ambience. He continues, smiling.
	"I'd like to hear your thoughts on the above, and I'd especially
like if Liralen would tell me where to find that nice bar she showedus all.
It (sounds/looks) like just the place for people like me."
	He picks up a grey-and-brown cat with white belly and paws that just 
walked in, mewling something about her food not being served on time _again_.
As he holds the now purring cat safely in clawed hands, He begins to fade, 
walking off.
	"Green tiger kittens indeed... Shouldn't bring you, then, Huh?. But
I'd like to meet the Pernesians, or whatever they call themselves..."

	Again, the room stands empty, then

-DISCONTINUITY-

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Everyone knows that dragons don't exist.  But while this simplistic
formulation may satisfy the layman, it does not suffice for the
scientific mind.  The School of Higher Neantical Nillity is in fact
wholly unconcerned with what does exist.  Indeed, the banality of
existence has been so amply demonstrated, there is no need for us to
discuss it any further here.  The brilliant Cerebron, attacking the
problem analytically, discovered three distinct kinds of dragon: the
mythical, the chimerical, and the purely hypothetical.  They were all,
one might say, nonexistent, but each nonexisted in an entirely
different way ...
                -- Stanislaw Lem, "Cyberiad"
-----------------------------+-----------------------------------------------
cute quote:		     |standard disclaimer:
			     |  My Opinions are Mine, and only opinions
  Convictions Cause Convicts |  (Obvious really, isn't it?)
	       R.A.Wilson (?)|	                       marauder@freja.diku.dk
-----------------------------+-----------------------------------------------


>From: mikeraz@agora.uucp (Michael Rasmussen)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk
Subject: Re: Interface
Date: 8 Nov 90 16:11:10 GMT

Through the heavy door comes a dripping stranger in worn jeans and a brown
leather jacket.  He shakes himself a bit, and rubs his hands together while
walking to the counter.  "A latte please," comes the request in a slightly
hoarse voive.  While waiting for the coffee he starts to eavsdrop on a 
conversation filled with magical beings and mild arguments about media and 
interfaces.

The orginal speaker's point has been somewhat lost, he started.  We have a 
tool today that **can** achive the effects of all the processes that have
been mentioned since.  Text and language does communicate effectivly - while
doing so with a microcosm of resources.  What's more it can even do a better
job. 

With any of the visual methods you've described the recipient is always tied 
to the specifics of the scene presented.  With text the recipient actively
fills in the specifics.  Like my jacket, which of you thought of bomber
leather with patches from my flight crews?  Which of you thought of a lined,
knee length slicker?  Did anyone think of something tacky from a discount 
house?  Whatever you thought it was yours, and it made the scene right for 
you.  If I came in with a visual you'd be forced to see it in my arbitrarly
chosen way.

Same thing with the chairs we're sitting on, are they: stools, 50's tubular
chrome, stackable plactic, upholstered gleanings from the thrift store? 
It's up to you,  just like my face, height and weight, and that of all the
others here.  (How many are there anyway?)

And about resources, anybody can write.  They just have to stand aside and
let their talk come through in print.  Making visuals is much harder, and 
visuals with 5k cuts in 30 min?  Hyperactive speed jive for the video junkies
that takes hundreds of person hours to produce.  The last time I was on TV
(I was interviewed) they spent 8 hours on my 4 minute appearence.  That's 
eight hours that I know of.   Yet my story could have been written out
in less that 30 minutes.  Visuals are tough, partly due to the equipment
involved.  But writing?  Just talking transcribed to print, the biggest 
problem being to stand aside and let the voice come through.  

As so many have shown before me, worlds can be created with a handful of
words and a mind to imagine them with.  Can't do that with any other media
available today.

/****
 Michael Rasmussen  mikeraz@agora.hf.intel.com MICHAELRAZ on GEnie
	"If you keep trying you get better." - JB
	"It's not a problem unless it's chronic." - LC
 ****/