To all blog readers out there, do you ever wonder about your blog? I do. I have entries I really like, entries whose certain lines I like, entries I don't like at all but I keep anyway because. there's something in them that refuses to be muted.

I love writing, I love acting out characters on stage, I love being on stage. I love being me, I love being someone else because I make that someone else me. Too bad my expressions are- mine if you can, ever take a sneak peek into the way I think and feel, when I do think and feel, be sure to take some back because I don't know this part of me well either. Maybe we can exchange notes.




strange, attractive fun and wonderful this creature with her unabashed quirks and fantastic side of reality that is a dream-scape. She has something of anne of green gables and rebecca of sunnybrook farm but no, she's not like them nor like darrell of malory towers. Think emily of new moon who smiles "chummily at her emily-in-the-glass" yet she isn't her. She peeps out at me with eyes that bewilder because I know not what they mean. They are oh. so shy. How can she be me? I see only her face for I know her body is bare. She, the pure little thing knows not what to do with clothes. What, cover herself? To what purpose? The puzzled pixie makes a doubtful noise at the garments I hold. She has nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. Now I see her physical form and it is whiter than the already blinding space we're in, the harsh flourescent setting like that in the matrix. She's not like me, she isn't tanned a heathen brown. She's cream, she's ivory, she's glowing and almost translucent. I can pretend, if I can to, that I can see through her. Pretend, mind you. For though you've never seen her she's as read as I am and she's a part of me.
Why so unlike then?, you ask. Why silly, she giggles, I'm just never allowed to come out long enough to see the sun. Ah, my innocent woman-child. She has none the form of ripened fruit, so much has she yet to grow, so little have I nutured her. My fault I guess. It is unintentioinally that I crush, almost suffocate my elfish beauty in my hardening heart (where she resides) that is comotose so that the brain might have more of me. The luminous eyes have a hint of shadow in them now. Banish the thought! What I would not to. Like the North Wind, I would tend to, teach, love and even wait- at the back of the North Wind.


The beautiful, the sensitive, the etheral