blather_makes_me_cry ClairE There is nothing like sitting in the dim light, in the bright morning light, entranced by the dance of blue words. One leads to another and suddenly you feel your heart start to melt down the drain, an exclamation point leaping up your throat. Nowhere can I find such a concentration of emotion, intellect, life, and heart. Art isn't about turning pages. It's no need to step out of your life and into a museum. Not even a need to talk about what you've done and will do, titles and documentation. Somehow it speaks more deeply to have you reach so far into your heart and pulling out the shining bloody singing weeping quiet and lowdown peaceful joyous statements of your life. I could reach out and pull myself to you by the umbilicus. We all live in solitude, each one of us. Know that our words swim back to each other, that somewhere we have pressed a finger into someone's heart and time has kindly marched on and it will never do anything to eradicate the memory. When you've planted words, it comes back to their tongues. Trust it. 031219 ... marked . 031220 ... marked again 040716 ... anonymous coward thinks of this every blatherday 040806 ... pete . 040807 ... jane blather_makes_me_laugh 080327 what's it to you? who go blather from