regaining misstree thoughts of innocence to achieve churn my stomach, cause recoil from parts of me that don't explain themselves. Hope is regrded bleary-eyed, resigned, bitterly almost-curious. There is always light and dark. But the balance they seek... one has overshadowed, strngling vines too thorny to trim. I feel the need for a being of light near me, reminding me, singing a song that will bring me awake. But the way that my being is composed, nearly all such entities are either repelled by the darkness I relish or quickly dismissed as easy prey, unworthy. I need the presence of a balanced soul to forge deep into thorns and shine. 060511 what's it to you? who go blather from