<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Oneone on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/oneone/</link><description>Recent content in Oneone on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><atom:link href="/authors/oneone/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Green Pile of Goo</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/green-pile-of-goo/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/green-pile-of-goo/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;The Green Pile of Goo&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Part I (out of two
&lt;I think&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Dev couldn’t move anything.  He meant that sincerely. 
See, if you put someone into a hog-tie, even a tight one, there are
still likely to be about a dozen things you can move—not to a great degree
of usefulness, and not to the extent that the hog-tie-ee can do anything
about his or her hog-tie-ness—but there are still parts you can move: 
toes and fingers, feet, swerve your back like a fish, twist your neck,
even attain an general aerobic state of flopping-aboutness.  But Dev
found himself a victim of the highest degree of immobility he had experienced. 
He could open and close his eyes, employ the muscles around his eyes to
squint and, with effort, he could furrow his brow.  That was about
the extent of it. He couldn’t even ask someone to pinch him, to find out
whether or not he was dreaming.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>