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I like the way that paper curls when I rip it. I am the queen of scrap paper and my subjects, the loyal chicken scratch. I have to write things down. Little slips of paper with reminders of things, numbersnamesdatescolors collect in my bags like dew. Tiny pearls of some thing. Tiny promises, just... there. Like, my fingers have a Peter Pan complex... and need to cast shadows they can control. Sometimes I find scraps of scrapped poems. Sometime I find jokes that I was meaning to tell. Dry cleaning slips, computer information, directions, all of these snuggle themselves safe and wait like treasures to be unearthed. It's funny the things that I find. And sometimes I find that I am always finding an excuse to fill my pockets with paper. It's like I'm building nests or something. Perhaps someday something special will hatch and fly up and out of the shadows my fingers leave. Yeah... somehow I think that a dove from the pocket is way cooler than a dove pulled from a hat. . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
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a Nifty design 
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