When I Discover Who I Am, I'll

I Suddenly Recall The Arpeggios Of Laughter Lilting Across The Tender, Springtime Grass-gay-welling, Far-floating, Fluent, Spontaneous, A Bell-like Feminine Fluting, Then Suppressed; As Though Snuffed Swiftly And Irrevocably Beneath The Quiet Solemnity Of The Vespered Air Now Vibrant With Somber Chapel Bells.

I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me.

I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me. Like The Bodiless Heads You See Sometimes In Circus Sideshows, It Is As Though I Have Been Surrounded By Mirrors Of Hard, Distorting Glass. When They Approach Me They See Only My Surroundings, Themselves Or Figments Of Their Imagination, Indeed, Everything And Anything Except Me.

If The Word Has The Potency To Revive And Make Us Free, It Has Also The Power To Bind, Imprison And Destroy.

The Antidote To Hubris, To Overweening Pride, Is Irony, That Capacity To Discover And Systematize Ideas.