a sense of excitement... tiptoe in, and sit down to play. Strange things tied together, balance between a former definitional foe turned friend and the fallen betrayer turned friend.. laugh as we construct a new fabric from these strange strands, reweave memories and ideas. Slip back, and another hand reaches down, and grabs a long lost strand.. Wahl... breathe the essense, remember the excitement for a future that never was. A celebration of pain... "One Headlight", and that other song, barely remembered.. "if you want to send me flowers, just go ahead now" .. the swarm of bugs moved with motion like one being.. laughter, delight.. hands holding a head beneath the surface of the water.. a horror movie? Going with a friend (T) and his mother to .. a university? To see a musical? Long-past repressions and ones still there that we refuse to toss.. So many strands. So toss them away, a diseased circuit? When the strands burn your hand, they leave interesting marks, but refusing to let go will destroy your hand. The worms will eventually touch your heart, and you will die. Touch me, pale tree, on your journey, and you will be blessed forever. Essense of oak, in the corn I eat, in the cork of the wine you drink. The band played waltzing matilda... but tell me what else could they play? So welcome back behind the counter... smell again the smells, walk down the paths closed to the public, see the markings few have seen. Silent corridors, empty now for years, your corridors, in *your* head. Raise your voice and return to your childhood. Again, the two odd companions, the odd bridge, sideways from the abuse, we cross it widthwise, and people stare. My two strange companions shrug, never to meet, although I swing one of them towards a real person, and another offers to remove my treasured scars. I laugh, but the laughter hides more pain than pleasure.

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