"I already told her, if she needs a valium I have that."

(Always another blank page.) Caverned canopy, brooding beneath the branches of a nameless tree. Triggering the moments my settled thoughts await.

(Crapola, m'crazy dear!)

Not every beautiful person, somehow knows of every other. Instinct knows no exception here, and beauty neither needs it, nor necessarily denies its needfulness. (Focus, focus, focus!! And on something other than yourself, please.)

How is this, that one might stand before a typewriter, above an apparently transparent surface, and think she has a right to know God completely, and even something of herself? Don't ask me, I'm just the kid with always something to say.

(When will the frankness of all the folks, finally be revealed?)

"...and it wears her down to the yellow bone. Makes her think of the times in her life when she was afraid, but of what exactly, now she has no idea. Now, it seems there's nothing left worth fear, especially hers. Not even the god she thought once that she could imagine, and conceive of in every way applicable. A body can do only one thing at a time. Either we're here or we're going; now or then or not yet around. Do you know this yet? Do you feel the truth of it there, somewhere behind your cinnamon eyes?"

Faretheewell folks,
-Talthea (11/27/08)

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