Some technical questions

[Guest]

Why do some of you poets write under several names?

Does each one produce different styles?

What is the deciding factor when choosing which persona to wear?

Is any one else as confused by this tactic as I am?

I understand, in some cases, it's a desire to post anonymously but in others there is no pretense as to the ID of said poet.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Dear Tristesse -

I shall now turn to answering your question concerning the genesis of my heteronyms. Let me see if I am able to give you a full answer.

I shall begin with the psychiatric aspect. The origin of my heteronyms lies in the profound streak of hysteria which is existent within me. I do not know if I am purely and simply hysterical; or if I am, in more accurate terms, a hysteroneurasthenic. I am more inclined towards this second hypothesis because phenomena of abulia exist within me which are not to be found on the list of the symptoms of hysteria itself. Whichever it may be, the mental origin of my heteronyms lies in my organic and constant propensity towards depersonalisation and simulation. Fortunately, both for me and for others, these phenomena have been produced only within my own mind; I mean by this that they do not find expression in my daily life, in my external life, nor in my contact with others. They explode within my mind and I experience this phenomenon completely within myself. If I were a woman--for in the woman phenomena of hysteria burst forth in seizures and attacks of a similar nature--each poem written by Alvaro de Campos (the most hysterically hysterical within me) would cause alarm amongst the neighbours. But I am a man and in men hysteria mainly assumes configurations within the mind; and consequently everything terminates in silence and poetry....

This explains, tant bien que mal, the organic origin of my heteronyms. I am now going to give you the straightforward history of my heteronyms. I shall begin with those who have already died, some of which I can no longer recall, that is to say, those which lie deeply embedded in that remote part of my childhood that is almost erased from my memory.

Ever since I was a small child I felt driven to create a fictitious world around me and to surround myself with friends and acquaintances who never existed. (Indeed, I do not know if in reality it was they who did not exist or if it is I who does not exist. In these things, as indeed in all, we cannot afford to be dogmatic). Ever since I have known myself as being that to which I refer as "I", I can remember having imagined with great precision in my mind, various unreal figures--as far as appearance, movements, character and life history were concerned--who were so very visible to me and who were so much my own, as the things which we, abusively perhaps, call real life. This inclination and drive which has flourished within me ever since I can recall being an "I" has always been my companion, changing slightly the type of music with which it seduces me but never altering at all its manner of seduction.

In this manner I can recall that which seems to me to have been my first heteronym, or--more precisely--my first non-existent acquaintance--a certain Chevalier de Pas--when I was only six years old, for whom I wrote letters, by him to myself, and whose image, not entirely faint, still touches on that part of my affection which can be described as nostalgia. I can also remember, but less vividly, another image whose name I can no longer conjure up but it was also foreign, and who was, although I do not know in what respect, a rival of the Chevalier de Pas ... things which happen to all children? Undoubtedly--or only perhaps. But I lived them to such a point that I am still living them--because I am able to recall them in such a way that an effort is required to make me realize that they were not realities.

This tendency to create another world within me, identical to this one but with different people, has never left my mind. This tendency went through various phases within which this is one which has already become of age. A witty remark which had been burgeoning within me, would occur to me, completely alien, for one reason or another, to that which I am, or to that which I suppose I am. I would say it immediately, spontaneously, as if it had come from a certain friend of mine whose name I would invent, on whose life history I would expand and whose physical appearance--face, stature, dress and mien--I would immediately see before me. And it was in this way that I invented and spread around various friends and acquaintances who had never existed but whom I still today, almost thirty years later, am able to hear, feel and see. I repeat: whom I can hear, feel and see ... and I miss them.

(I only need to start to speak--and for me typing is the equivalent of speaking--and I have difficulty in putting on the brakes. Enough of the boring details for you, Casais Monteiro! I shall now delve into the genesis of my literary heteronyms, which is, after all, what you would like to know. In any case, what has gone before provides you with the background to the mother who bore them.)

Around 1912, if I am not mistaken (which I never can be by much), the idea occurred to me to write some poems of a pagan propensity. I made a rough draft of a few items in irregular verse (not in the style of Alvaro de Campos, but in a more regular style) and then abandoned them. However, in an imperfectly matted penumbra, a vague portrait of the person who was doing the writing had become outlined within me. (Without my knowledge, Ricardo Reis had been born.)

I remember one day, eighteen months or two years later, playing a joke with Sa-Carneiro: namely, I were to invent a bucolic poet with a complicated nature and to introduce him--in a manner which I no longer recall--to Sa-Carneiro in any one kind of reality. I spent a few days developing a poet but I did not successfully achieve anything. On the very day I relinquished this task--it was March 8th 1914--I approached a high chest of drawers, and, taking a sheet of paper, I began to write, standing up, as I always write whenever I can. And I wrote thirty or so poems at a stroke in a kind of ecstatic trance, the nature of which I will not be able to define to you. It was the day of triumph in my life and I shall never succeed in living another like that. I opened with the title "The Keeper of the Flock" ("O Guardador de Rabanhos"); and what followed was that someone emerged from within me, and whom I christened that very moment Alberto Caeiro. Forgive me for the absurdity of the following sentence: my master emerged from within me. That was the immediate sensation that I felt. And thus, once that these thirty or so poems were written, I immediately availed myself of another sheet of paper and wrote--also at a stroke--the six poems which constitute "The Slanting Rain" ("Chuva Obliqua") by Fernando Pessoa. Immediately and totally.... It was the throwback of Fernando Pessoa Alberto Caeiro to Fernando Pessoa himself. Or, in more explicit terms, it was the reaction of Fernando Pessoa against his non-existence as Alberto Caeiro.

Once that Alberto Caeiro had emerged, I immediately--both instinctively and subconsciously--undertook the task to find a few disciples for him. I extracted the latent Ricardo Reis from his false paganism, invented a name for him and adjusted him to himself because at that point I was already able to see him. And suddenly, from an origin opposed to that of Ricardo Reis, a new individual impetuously gushed forth before my eyes. In a jet, and on the typewriter, with neither interruption nor correction "Ode Triunfal" ("Ode to Triumph") by Alvaro de Campos poured onto the page--both the Ode thus entitled and the man who bears that name.

I then created a non-existent coterie. I established it all in patterns of reality. I graded the influences, was aware of their friendships, heard within me the discussions and the differing of judgements and in all this it seemed to me that it was I, creator of everything, who had the least to do with it all. It seemed that everything took place independently of me; and it seems that this is still taking place in the very same way. If one day I am able to publish the aesthetic discussion between Ricardo Reis and Alvaro de Campos, you will see how much they differ from each other and how I am nothing in this matter.

A few more references to this matter are required.... I can see before me, in the colourless yet real space of a dream, the faces and the miens of Caeiro, Ricardo Reis and Alvaro de Campos. It was I who fabricated their ages and their lives for them. Ricardo Reis was born in 1887 (I do not recall the exact day nor the month, but I do have them somewhere) in Oporto, is a doctor by profession and is at present in Brazil. Alberto Caeiro was born in 1889 and died in 1915. He was born in Lisbon but spent most of his life in the country. He did not have a profession nor any real education to speak of. Alvaro de Campos was born in Tavira on October 15th 1890 (at 1.30 pm, so I am informed by Ferreira Gomes; and it is certainly true as his horoscope for this hour confirms.) As you know, the latter is a naval engineer (from Glasgow University) but is now here in Lisbon, yet is not working. Caeiro was of medium stature and although in fact was of a very delicate disposition (he died of tuberculosis) he did not appear as delicate as he actually was. Ricardo Reis is slightly, yet only slightly, smaller in stature, is stronger and leaner. Alvaro de Campos is tall (1,75 metres--two centimetres taller than I am), thin and a little inclined to stoop.

They all have clean-shaven faces: Caeiro was blonde, without much colour and blue eyes, Reis a vague opaque swarthy colour and Campos somewhere between white and brown ressembling slightly a typical Portuguese Jew; his hair, however, is straight and is normally parted at the side and he wears a monocle. As I have already said, Caeiro hardly received any education at all, only up to primary school level. Both his father and mother died early in his life and he just carried on living at home, surviving on a small income. He lived with an old aunt, a great-aunt. Ricardo Reis, educated in a Jesuit College, is, as I said, a doctor: he has been living in Brazil since 1919 when he spontaneously because he was a monarchist. He is a latinist as a result of the education he received from others and a semi-hellenist as a result of the education he gave himself. Alvaro de Campos received a common place secondary school education and subsequently was sent to Scotland to study engineering, firstly mechanical and then naval engineering. During one holiday period he undertook the journey to the Orient from which emerged Opiario. He was taught Latin by an uncle, a priest, from the Beiras.

How am I able to write in the name of these three.... ? Caeiro, out of pure and accidental inspiration, without knowing or even imagining what I was going to write. Ricardo Reis, after an abstract deliberation which suddenly becomes transformed into an "Ode". Campos, whenever I feel a sudden impulsion to write something, yet I know not what. (My semi-heteronym, Bernardo Soares, who, by the way, in many respects ressembles Alvaro de Campos, always appears when I am feeling tired or drowsy and appears in such a way that his qualities of reasoning power and inhibition are a little erratic; his prose is a continuous reverie. He is a semi-heteronym because, although not being my personality itself, it is not different from mine, but simply a mutilation of it. It is I less the reasoning power and the affectivity. His prose, with the exception of the tenuous quid which is present in mine, is the equal of mine, and from the language point of view the Portuguese is exactly the same. Whilst Caeiro wrote Portuguese badly, Campos of a reasonable standard but with odd slips, saying for example, "I, me" instead of "I myself". Reis writes better than I do but uses a purism which I consider excessive. What is difficult for me is to write Reis' prose--still unpublished--or Campos' prose. Simulation is easier, also because it is more spontaneous in verse form.

- Fernando Pessoa, 1935​

 

[Guest]

I asked for that, didn't I?


*goes to the back of the class.*

 

[flyguy69]

I used to post under my pseudonym "Pat Carrington."



edited to add: I'm kidding, folks! Thanks to successful surgery Pat and I are completely separate people, now.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

I asked for that, didn't I?

*goes to the back of the class.*

I thought it was a great question, Tess, and made me immediately think of that true answer...

 

[wildsweetone]

I used to post under my pseudonym "Pat Carrington."

i can see similarities.

 

[wildsweetone]

and differences. yeah, and i can see differences.

 

[Guest]

I thought it was a great question, Tess, and made me immediately think of that true answer...

I though you might have taken it as shit-stirring - moi???

That piece is actually very interesting. Thank you for posting it.

 

[wildsweetone]

hi tess! *waving*


do you post under a pseudonom? i'd like to read more of your work.

 

[Guest]

hi tess! *waving*


do you post under a pseudonom? i'd like to read more of your work.

Hello, beautiful. Nope - what you see is what you get.

Thanks for the compliment.

I'd just like to say - you're desire to learn and improve is admirable. There's a definite growth in your work.

 

[wildsweetone]

Hello, beautiful. Nope - what you see is what you get.

Thanks for the compliment.

well, then you'll just have to write some more. please.

I'd just like to say - you're desire to learn and improve is admirable. There's a definite growth in your work.

oh boy *blushing* thank you.
i want to improve. i know it's possible. and learning is such fun.
i know where i want to get, i just need to work out how to get there.

 

[BooMerengue]

Dear Tristesse -

I shall now turn to answering your question concerning the genesis of my heteronyms. Let me see if I am able to give you a full answer.

I shall begin with the psychiatric aspect. The origin of my heteronyms lies in the profound streak of hysteria which is existent within me. I do not know if I am purely and simply hysterical; or if I am, in more accurate terms, a hysteroneurasthenic. I am more inclined towards this second hypothesis because phenomena of abulia exist within me which are not to be found on the list of the symptoms of hysteria itself. Whichever it may be, the mental origin of my heteronyms lies in my organic and constant propensity towards depersonalisation and simulation. Fortunately, both for me and for others, these phenomena have been produced only within my own mind; I mean by this that they do not find expression in my daily life, in my external life, nor in my contact with others. They explode within my mind and I experience this phenomenon completely within myself. If I were a woman--for in the woman phenomena of hysteria burst forth in seizures and attacks of a similar nature--each poem written by Alvaro de Campos (the most hysterically hysterical within me) would cause alarm amongst the neighbours. But I am a man and in men hysteria mainly assumes configurations within the mind; and consequently everything terminates in silence and poetry....

This explains, tant bien que mal, the organic origin of my heteronyms. I am now going to give you the straightforward history of my heteronyms. I shall begin with those who have already died, some of which I can no longer recall, that is to say, those which lie deeply embedded in that remote part of my childhood that is almost erased from my memory.

Ever since I was a small child I felt driven to create a fictitious world around me and to surround myself with friends and acquaintances who never existed. (Indeed, I do not know if in reality it was they who did not exist or if it is I who does not exist. In these things, as indeed in all, we cannot afford to be dogmatic). Ever since I have known myself as being that to which I refer as "I", I can remember having imagined with great precision in my mind, various unreal figures--as far as appearance, movements, character and life history were concerned--who were so very visible to me and who were so much my own, as the things which we, abusively perhaps, call real life. This inclination and drive which has flourished within me ever since I can recall being an "I" has always been my companion, changing slightly the type of music with which it seduces me but never altering at all its manner of seduction.

In this manner I can recall that which seems to me to have been my first heteronym, or--more precisely--my first non-existent acquaintance--a certain Chevalier de Pas--when I was only six years old, for whom I wrote letters, by him to myself, and whose image, not entirely faint, still touches on that part of my affection which can be described as nostalgia. I can also remember, but less vividly, another image whose name I can no longer conjure up but it was also foreign, and who was, although I do not know in what respect, a rival of the Chevalier de Pas ... things which happen to all children? Undoubtedly--or only perhaps. But I lived them to such a point that I am still living them--because I am able to recall them in such a way that an effort is required to make me realize that they were not realities.

This tendency to create another world within me, identical to this one but with different people, has never left my mind. This tendency went through various phases within which this is one which has already become of age. A witty remark which had been burgeoning within me, would occur to me, completely alien, for one reason or another, to that which I am, or to that which I suppose I am. I would say it immediately, spontaneously, as if it had come from a certain friend of mine whose name I would invent, on whose life history I would expand and whose physical appearance--face, stature, dress and mien--I would immediately see before me. And it was in this way that I invented and spread around various friends and acquaintances who had never existed but whom I still today, almost thirty years later, am able to hear, feel and see. I repeat: whom I can hear, feel and see ... and I miss them.

(I only need to start to speak--and for me typing is the equivalent of speaking--and I have difficulty in putting on the brakes. Enough of the boring details for you, Casais Monteiro! I shall now delve into the genesis of my literary heteronyms, which is, after all, what you would like to know. In any case, what has gone before provides you with the background to the mother who bore them.)

Around 1912, if I am not mistaken (which I never can be by much), the idea occurred to me to write some poems of a pagan propensity. I made a rough draft of a few items in irregular verse (not in the style of Alvaro de Campos, but in a more regular style) and then abandoned them. However, in an imperfectly matted penumbra, a vague portrait of the person who was doing the writing had become outlined within me. (Without my knowledge, Ricardo Reis had been born.)

I remember one day, eighteen months or two years later, playing a joke with Sa-Carneiro: namely, I were to invent a bucolic poet with a complicated nature and to introduce him--in a manner which I no longer recall--to Sa-Carneiro in any one kind of reality. I spent a few days developing a poet but I did not successfully achieve anything. On the very day I relinquished this task--it was March 8th 1914--I approached a high chest of drawers, and, taking a sheet of paper, I began to write, standing up, as I always write whenever I can. And I wrote thirty or so poems at a stroke in a kind of ecstatic trance, the nature of which I will not be able to define to you. It was the day of triumph in my life and I shall never succeed in living another like that. I opened with the title "The Keeper of the Flock" ("O Guardador de Rabanhos"); and what followed was that someone emerged from within me, and whom I christened that very moment Alberto Caeiro. Forgive me for the absurdity of the following sentence: my master emerged from within me. That was the immediate sensation that I felt. And thus, once that these thirty or so poems were written, I immediately availed myself of another sheet of paper and wrote--also at a stroke--the six poems which constitute "The Slanting Rain" ("Chuva Obliqua") by Fernando Pessoa. Immediately and totally.... It was the throwback of Fernando Pessoa Alberto Caeiro to Fernando Pessoa himself. Or, in more explicit terms, it was the reaction of Fernando Pessoa against his non-existence as Alberto Caeiro.

Once that Alberto Caeiro had emerged, I immediately--both instinctively and subconsciously--undertook the task to find a few disciples for him. I extracted the latent Ricardo Reis from his false paganism, invented a name for him and adjusted him to himself because at that point I was already able to see him. And suddenly, from an origin opposed to that of Ricardo Reis, a new individual impetuously gushed forth before my eyes. In a jet, and on the typewriter, with neither interruption nor correction "Ode Triunfal" ("Ode to Triumph") by Alvaro de Campos poured onto the page--both the Ode thus entitled and the man who bears that name.

I then created a non-existent coterie. I established it all in patterns of reality. I graded the influences, was aware of their friendships, heard within me the discussions and the differing of judgements and in all this it seemed to me that it was I, creator of everything, who had the least to do with it all. It seemed that everything took place independently of me; and it seems that this is still taking place in the very same way. If one day I am able to publish the aesthetic discussion between Ricardo Reis and Alvaro de Campos, you will see how much they differ from each other and how I am nothing in this matter.

A few more references to this matter are required.... I can see before me, in the colourless yet real space of a dream, the faces and the miens of Caeiro, Ricardo Reis and Alvaro de Campos. It was I who fabricated their ages and their lives for them. Ricardo Reis was born in 1887 (I do not recall the exact day nor the month, but I do have them somewhere) in Oporto, is a doctor by profession and is at present in Brazil. Alberto Caeiro was born in 1889 and died in 1915. He was born in Lisbon but spent most of his life in the country. He did not have a profession nor any real education to speak of. Alvaro de Campos was born in Tavira on October 15th 1890 (at 1.30 pm, so I am informed by Ferreira Gomes; and it is certainly true as his horoscope for this hour confirms.) As you know, the latter is a naval engineer (from Glasgow University) but is now here in Lisbon, yet is not working. Caeiro was of medium stature and although in fact was of a very delicate disposition (he died of tuberculosis) he did not appear as delicate as he actually was. Ricardo Reis is slightly, yet only slightly, smaller in stature, is stronger and leaner. Alvaro de Campos is tall (1,75 metres--two centimetres taller than I am), thin and a little inclined to stoop.

They all have clean-shaven faces: Caeiro was blonde, without much colour and blue eyes, Reis a vague opaque swarthy colour and Campos somewhere between white and brown ressembling slightly a typical Portuguese Jew; his hair, however, is straight and is normally parted at the side and he wears a monocle. As I have already said, Caeiro hardly received any education at all, only up to primary school level. Both his father and mother died early in his life and he just carried on living at home, surviving on a small income. He lived with an old aunt, a great-aunt. Ricardo Reis, educated in a Jesuit College, is, as I said, a doctor: he has been living in Brazil since 1919 when he spontaneously because he was a monarchist. He is a latinist as a result of the education he received from others and a semi-hellenist as a result of the education he gave himself. Alvaro de Campos received a common place secondary school education and subsequently was sent to Scotland to study engineering, firstly mechanical and then naval engineering. During one holiday period he undertook the journey to the Orient from which emerged Opiario. He was taught Latin by an uncle, a priest, from the Beiras.

How am I able to write in the name of these three.... ? Caeiro, out of pure and accidental inspiration, without knowing or even imagining what I was going to write. Ricardo Reis, after an abstract deliberation which suddenly becomes transformed into an "Ode". Campos, whenever I feel a sudden impulsion to write something, yet I know not what. (My semi-heteronym, Bernardo Soares, who, by the way, in many respects ressembles Alvaro de Campos, always appears when I am feeling tired or drowsy and appears in such a way that his qualities of reasoning power and inhibition are a little erratic; his prose is a continuous reverie. He is a semi-heteronym because, although not being my personality itself, it is not different from mine, but simply a mutilation of it. It is I less the reasoning power and the affectivity. His prose, with the exception of the tenuous quid which is present in mine, is the equal of mine, and from the language point of view the Portuguese is exactly the same. Whilst Caeiro wrote Portuguese badly, Campos of a reasonable standard but with odd slips, saying for example, "I, me" instead of "I myself". Reis writes better than I do but uses a purism which I consider excessive. What is difficult for me is to write Reis' prose--still unpublished--or Campos' prose. Simulation is easier, also because it is more spontaneous in verse form.

- Fernando Pessoa, 1935​

good gawwd!!

next question??

 

[ishtat]

This is a very good set of questions.

I write some stuff as the "normal" me but the majority of what I write is by what I call the "insane me"The latter arises from deep in my mind and is the expression of what I feel in the most unrefined sense about all sorts of things rather than what I think. Much of it is deeply disturbing to me and I suspect it might be to others too. It often deals with issues to me which are religious in character (more accurately spiritual) and can be very frightening. I am not really prepared to publish the work of this "me" as yet partly because the language is so unequal to the experience.

I suspect that most of us can write as different "persons" either consciously or not but when we present ourselves to an audience tend to hide our more difficult selves from view.

 

[Liar]

Since I already have a persona robe on here by default, I see no reason to change it. The guy you see here, Liar, is as much the real me as I choose to make him at any given moment.

And yeah, I'm utterly confuzzled by the name game thing.

 

[SeattleRain]

I started having two names in 8th grade. Jennifer and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was the runaway poet and Jennifer was the good girl. I do not have multiple personalities, but it was my way of trying to figure out the conflicting messages between wanting to please my parents and their expectations (what I thought were their expectations) and the strong drive I had to be a free spirit-artist.

When I was getting too rebellious, questioning the norms, etc my friends would say ELIZABETH! WE WANT JENNIFER BACK!

Now in my real life, I have finally finally finally found a place where they have merged, and I am happy with who I am.


The reasons for starting the heteronyms on literotica is more complicated, but the reasons I keep two is not. When annaswirls gets too fucking serious, I come out and rebel against her. It is just FUN. She is like getting dressed up to go out. She is like Mister Rogers. How he comes in, takes off his suit, puts on that cardigan and sneakers... like putting on high heels after going barefoot and birkenstocks, like combing my hair and putting on make up after a day of wiping snot and digging in the mud.

Same idea.

Also, I have found that it can sometimes get frustrating when people judge you by your past work, or assume they will or will not like what you have to say because of your name.

When I started posting under different names, DIFFERENT people left comments and sent messages. I always told them I was anna too, but truth is, for some reason, they did not approach anna, even though we are the same person behind the keyboard.

For me it is just an easy way of saying-- okay I am in my fuck around mood don't take me too seriously, it is me but it is me on high speed and I just want to play.

Of course, anna can play too

I know it might be silly, but it is just fun for me.

Some people have changed names to hide from someone, ex-spouse, possessive online "friend" etc. I can see the advantage in that. Sometimes that irresponsible desire to do whatever the fuck you want without implication bursts out.

eh hem

not condoning it or saying it is a good or bad idea, just true.

~Jennifer

oh yeah and everything that Pessoa said too

 

[Angeline]

Why do some of you poets write under several names?

Does each one produce different styles?

What is the deciding factor when choosing which persona to wear?

Is any one else as confused by this tactic as I am?

I understand, in some cases, it's a desire to post anonymously but in others there is no pretense as to the ID of said poet.

You know me and you know why.

Today my poet voices are all pretty quiet--gettin ready for a visit from ee senior. :yikes:

 

[darkmaas]

Eureka ... a Pessoa thread

I too am a fan of Fernando Pessoa, and in a fit of boredom set up a female heteronym of darkmaas who I named after Pessoa's girlfriend. (Sorry Lauren, but I spelled it wrong as usual). I thought she might explore d'maas' feminine side. No one who knew us was fooled. She wrote like darkmaas in pearls and badly applied lipstick.

She produced two bittersweet poems about her times with Fernando and a poem about a type of sexual deviance (add leather to the pearls and rouge). But, as she seemed unable to develop a seperate style or voice, I let her fade into the mists. She (along with her poet/lover) made a cameo appearance in one of darkmaas' Hotel poems just for old times.

 

[SeattleRain]

darkmaas in pearls and badly applied lipstick.

ooh I feel a new AV coming on...
you wanna borrow a bra?

 

[darkmaas]

Is it tasteful?

 

[eagleyez]

I shoot from the hip, no mystery alts. When inspired I write in lots of ways and places, one of which is here, as the resident Birdbrain.

Hiya sassy.

 

[SeattleRain]

Is it tasteful?

um, depends on your taste--
I have a basketfull of them

(since the bottom fell out of my underware drawer)

 

[SeattleRain]

Is it tasteful?

I cannot believe you only now have become a Guru. I got it 10 posts before you, crazee stuff. You are definately a quality vs quantity poster

Congratulations! Do you feel different? I mean besides contemplating your personal taste in ladies underclothes?

 

[Lauren Hynde]

(Sorry Lauren, but I spelled it wrong as usual)

It's the thought that counts.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Thank you all for your input. I always thought I was surrounded by about six people with many different names and this confirms it.

 

[darkmaas]

Ooooh lets have a party.

SeattleRain said:

I cannot believe you only now have become a Guru. I got it 10 posts before you, crazee stuff. You are definately a quality vs quantity poster

Congratulations! Do you feel different? I mean besides contemplating your personal taste in ladies underclothes?

Let's have a party.

A New-Gu-Ru party. Who will jump out of the cake this time? I see EE is in the room. Bird-in-a-bra the best we can do? Oh, there's the Tristesse twins. Now that could be a fine surprise. And Lauren is wearing my fave AV. I'm flattered.