unsubstantiated rumor that Melanie Jackson denied Playboy Japan "interview"

[Paul Mackin]

On Wed, 2004-11-17 at 09:53, Ghetta Life wrote:
> Heikki,
> 
> Here you've lost me.  But the messenger story a la MJ was superb.
                                    

An Imperial Message --Franz Kafka


The Emperor—so they say—has sent a message, directly from his death bed,
to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge
at the furthest distance from the imperial sun.  He ordered the herald
to kneel down beside his bed and whispered the message in his ear.  He
thought it was so important that he had the herald speak it back to
him. He confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding his
head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing his death—all
the obstructing walls have been broken down, and all the great ones of
his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring
flights of stairs—in front of all of them he dispatched his herald. The
messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one
arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd.  If he
runs into resistence, he points to his breast where there is a sign of
the sun. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd
is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open
field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous
pounding of his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are
all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms
of the innermost palace. Never will he win his way through. And if he
did manage that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to
fight his way down the steps, and, if he managed to do that, nothing
would have been achieved.  He would have to stride through the
courtyards, and after the courtyards through the second palace
encircling the first, and, then again, through stairs and courtyards,
and then, once again, a palace, and so on for thousands of years. And if
he finally burst through the outermost door—but that can never, never
happen—the royal capital city, the centre of the world, is still there
in front of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way
through here, certainly not someone with a message from a dead man.  But
you sit at your window and dream of that message when evening comes.

> 
> Ghetta
> 
> >From: Heikki Raudaskoski <hraudask at sun3.oulu.fi>
> >
> >Here's a clue for you all: it did tap into "Chinese Wall", and
> >the wannabe is tall, yes it's easy as pie: the messengee was I.
> 
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