“The Story of Email” by Anonymous

This is an email. It is intended to be used only as an email and not
for any other purpose. Any use of this email for purposes other than
the intended purpose shall constitute a misuse of this email and may
subject the offender to penalties described in circular E-307.

If you receive this email in error you should notify your email
provider, the sender, the intended recipient and your local
Postmaster. There is no requirement to notify the NSA because they
have already received a copy of this email.

If you do not receive this email, you should report that fact to your
local Postmaster, your webmaster, if any, and MasterCard International.

If you are the intended recipient, and if you are pure in spirit and
mind, you may read it, but if your security clearance is below
“Destroy Before Reading” you are not allowed to remember the contents.

If you find the contents of this email offensive, you are not allowed
to open it.

There are many more pertinent regulations, but we are only allowed to
spend 45 seconds on each customer. You are therefore referred to Circular 308.

Have a pleasant day.

The Management

aka Anonymous

On Writing Poetry By Anonymous

“…Sometimes, writing poetry is frighteningly easy. Those are the times when the whole thought is
compact enough that you can get it out in virtually one sitting.

“The hard part is when your inspiration has only given you a fragment
of the content, and you have to fill the rest by using recollection,
common sense, logic and, actually, writing. It’s those fragments that
fill the dry corners of the basement, year after year. I once had a
fairly long poem pour out of me complete on a quiet Saturday morning
when no one was around. That one is down in the basement, too, and
I’m thinking of trying to find it…”

Sunday: A Poem By “Anonymous”


Standing in rows behind the pews
Washed and brushed and clean
Dressed in the same gingham and taffeta
That has adorned them all these years.

Smiling, singing, praising God,
Listening to his word.
Redeemed, refreshed, renewed.
God, how I wish it were true


(by Anonymous)

There is no poetry for me.
My years of love to celebrate have passed.
No praise is due for this old body
Never was, really.
Sing the body neglected

I do not live in or near the woods
The Ocean is miles away
Beautiful people no longer visit me
My day is past,
Perhaps it never came

There is one raspy, carping woman, here
Who shouts commands and then complains,
But I would rather forget than herald her.
Occasionally, she goes away.
Then it is quiet.

The neighbors do not speak.
When the doorbell does ring,
Someone wants a contribution
Or a signature
Or I’ve already voted absentee

You can’t see out the dingy windows
It doesn’t matter..
Outdoors it’s always windy, smelly, and gray.
We never see the stars, not up that late.
Too foggy for sun in the morning.

I read the papers
Some books, billboards,
I write uninspired reports and briefs
They are prosaic
There is no poetry for me.

(Poet’s name provided upon request)

A Report From the World’s Smallest Political Machine, El Granada Sanitary District,1971

“Notes from an El Granada Attic

From a sheaf of roughly typed yellowing pages–reportedly from an El Granada attic in the 1970’s.
The typist is not identified. The entries are undated.

Henry Dunn came by the house on Saturday and announced that Deane and Deane
was going to build a sewer plant for the Granada Sanitary District in exchange for half the permits. I don’t know if board watchers Viola Schuetrum and Clay Fountain had been present for the meeting, but I was pretty sure that news like this would be regarded as corruption and conspiracy by the left wing of the Granada constituency.

Walt Schuetrum, Viola’s husband, is now primarily a home gardener and an expert on the use of sewer sludge as fertilizer. (For example, did you know that only tomato seeds can survive the incineration that is used to purify sewer sludge, and when you use ss on your garden, you will get volunteer tomatoes from the seeds that have survived).Walt can tell you more.

Both Clay and Walt had been involved with labor and, judging from their politics and Clay’s gusto, probably both had sung the “Internationaleâ€? in a large group of people on more than a few occasions.

Clay’s involvement with labor was deeper. He had actually worked, more or less directly, with Walter Reuther. I don’t know if he did PR, but he was in the branch of the organization that had to be literate. To Clay the labor movement was (a) glorious, but so were many other things. He had great enthusiasm for life, for friendship, for justice, for mildly leftist causes.

He always displayed his enthusiasm with a big smile, some body contact, and a little bit of saliva spray. He was a loveable guy, and soon, if not today, he would be the Paul Revere of the sewer wars to come.

The pressure on the GSD has gotten pretty heavy lately. Morris Bell and Knute Kleinen were feeling it severely the other night and decided that the ungrateful Granada public did not deserve them, so they resigned from the board. Now they want to come back but the citizens that are up in arms about Deane and Deane’s new development proposals have found a section of the Government Code that says they can’t come back. It looks like the whole thing is going to court.

It looks like Joe Murray and Dick Scholl are running for the GSD. All these recent development proposals have awakened this little community. Silk screened signs are popping up all over town. People are going door to door. The world’s smallest political machine is at work. The actors appear to be Joe Murray, Larry Pollard, Dick Scholl, Fred Lyon, and school board member John Wood.

Clay Fountain is a cheerleader and fellow traveler.

The Granada political machine has resorted to satire. To respond to Bill Deane’s weekly column in the Half Moon Bay review called “For The Record” complete with a thumbnail photograph of Bill Deane, these guys are writing a column of their own with exactly the same format. Their column is called “For the Birds” and its author is named Hill Clean. The picture at the top of the column of Mr. Clean is clearly the same guy that appears on the bottle of the cleaning liquid. He must live around here someplace.”


Although these events happened before I moved to El Granada, a little research reveals that developers Deane & Deane did not get the desired permits and shortly thereafter went out of business.