Date:         Wed, 3 Jan 1996 22:09:20 EST
From: gilbertsmith <gsmith@social.chass.ncsu.edu>
Subject:      The Truth About Cocteau and Kristeva 1
To: Multiple recipients of list WORDS-L <words-l@uga.cc.uga.edu>

THE TRUTH ABOUT COCTEAU AND KRISTEVA  1

Now, this is the story that filled the air of the steam room, and,
while it may be beyond <belief>, the tellers swore that it was true.
I am convinced that it is apochryphal, and I am also convinced that,
being a story, the Cocteau and Kristeva of the story are *not* the
Cocteau and Kristeva about whom the MLAers write their papers, rather
they are diegetic parallels, existing only in that great, expansive,
otherness out there beyond the <text> of the story itself.

So, as I heard it, once upon a time, in Paris....

--ggs

Date:         Wed, 3 Jan 1996 22:17:33 EST
From: gilbertsmith <gsmith@social.chass.ncsu.edu>
Subject:      TTACAK 2
To: Multiple recipients of list WORDS-L <words-l@uga.cc.uga.edu>

THE TRUTH ABOUT COCTEAU AND KRISTEVA 2

So, as I heard it, once upon a time, in Paris, Kristeva was having a
sip of absinthe in a corner bar and Cocteau was at a table in the
corner.  After observing her astounding presence from afar for a
while he went over and said:
    "May I buy you a drink?"
    "What do you mean by a drink?"
    "I mean, Madame, like, something to wet your little tongue."
    "You may, then, buy me what you call a drink."
The two cultural giants, the modernist/surrealist and the
postmodernist/postpostmodernist, spent several hours wetting their
tongues, and then ended up, finally, in the bed in the apartment of
Monsieur Cocteau.  Then it became apparent that Monsieur Cocteau had
to go on a trip to Marseilles to do a play, and Madame Kristeva
complained that she would be lost without his warmth, in that big bed
of his.  So, M.Cocteau said, "I can fix that.  Just wait."

So, she waited, and....
--ggs

Date:         Wed, 3 Jan 1996 22:26:07 EST
From: gilbertsmith <gsmith@social.chass.ncsu.edu>
Subject:      TTACAK 3
To: Multiple recipients of list WORDS-L <words-l@uga.cc.uga.edu>

THE TRUTH ABOUT COCTEAU AND KRISTEVA 3

So, she waited, and eventually, several hours later, M. Cocteau
returned with a big paper bag, in which something was writhing around
and making fetid noises.  Kristeva asked what he had in the bag,
writhing and making noises?  M. Cocteau pulled out a very large,
beautiful, silky black and white skunk.  He said:  "This is a skunk."
She said:
    "What is it for, oh my God?"
    "It is to keep you warm while I am gone."
    "What do you mean by 'warm'?" she inquired postmodernly.
    "I mean, my dear, that while I am gone, you should put this skunk
between your legs while you sleep and you will not be cold."
    She, holding her nose with her delicate fingers, said, with an
edge of anxiety in her voice:
    "But, my dear, what am I supposed to do about the smell?"
    "Don't worry, my dear.  He'll get used to it.  I did."

The tellers of this story swore that it was true.  I have my doubts.
--ggs