a sense of excitement... tiptoe in, and sit down to play. Strange thingstied together, balance between a former definitional foe turned friendand the fallen betrayer turned friend.. laugh as we construct a new fabricfrom these strange strands, reweave memories and ideas. Slip back, andanother hand reaches down, and grabs a long lost strand.. Wahl... breathethe essense, remember the excitement for a future that never was. A celebrationof pain... "One Headlight", and that other song, barely remembered.. "if youwant to send me flowers, just go ahead now" .. the swarm of bugs moved withmotion like one being.. laughter, delight.. hands holding a head beneath thesurface 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 therethat we refuse to toss.. So many strands. So toss them away, a diseasedcircuit? When the strands burn your hand, they leave interesting marks, butrefusing to let go will destroy your hand. The worms will eventually touchyour heart, and you will die. Touch me, pale tree, on your journey, and youwill be blessed forever. Essense of oak, in the corn I eat, in the cork of thewine you drink. The band played waltzing matilda... but tell me what elsecould 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. Silentcorridors, empty now for years, your corridors, in *your* head. Raise your voiceand return to your childhood. Again, the two odd companions, the odd bridge,sideways from the abuse, we cross it widthwise, and people stare. My twostrange companions shrug, never to meet, although I swing one of them towardsa real person, and another offers to remove my treasured scars. I laugh, butthe laughter hides more pain than pleasure.