Folded Thought of the Day:


The lines of sight and verbal trajectories and doing their best 
to align their sensibilities -- coming to terms and focusing on the 
real problem at hand.  Sullen, windblown and distracted by silent 
voices and faceless confidants.  Taps on the shoulder that serve 
only to distract.  Doing away with formalities and revealing your 
neutrality with an intensely disinterested look in your eyes.

Fielding the usual collection of naysaying tendencies.  Just a
knee-jerk reaction so popular with the hangers on -- sure has a 
way of knocking you from your high chair though.  If you deserved 
a word, then one would find a way of reaching you.  

Bitter arrivals.  Walking down streets and through doorways.  
Finding out if you have any reason at all for making your random 
appearance.  Your sullen evening wandering routine.  Getting old.  
Forgoing the array of invitations that await your every turn.  

The sensitives are making their own findings tonight.  Below the
surface of propriety.  At the edge of sobriety.  How kind of you 
to note the appearance.  Remember way back when?...we were rich 
little children...we held hands and counted to ten...then we 
started all over again.  Long before our doorsteps were covered 
with draft cards and we had to part ways -- some of us went away 
and some of us stayed behind to hold down the home front.  I can 
still remember your face from the train window.  And your tears 
seemed to indicate that you knew how it would all come to an end.  

So many years ago.  So many years since.

Did you save all the letters I sent you.  I saved all the ones 
you sent to me.  Even though I knew they'd cut me whenever I 
stumbled upon them.  In the attic.  In the basement.  Folded 
in hardcover books.  Tucked inside picture frames.  

Can you make it out from the corner of your perception -- gotta 
be tuned in...you could miss it if your weren't picking up that 
special random frequency...the one way down at the end of the 
dial.  Stuffing the ballot boxes.  Hoping for approval.  To 
proceed with this grand charade.  This open call masquerade ball.  
Hard to know who you're talking to.  With the faces all looking so 
transitory.  Not to mention those odd expressions.  

Pairing off as the hour grows late.  Showing their true colors...
betraying their allegiance to safe numbers.  Even odds.  Nothing 
your basic pollster couldn't account for.  Saving yourself for 
the popular vote.  Well, that could explain the presence of the 
fingered authority figures hanging out over at the culture 
factory.  Manufacturing and packaging their own synthetic versions 
of artistic beauty and romantic endeavor.  

All things in moderation.  But don't lose hope.  They're taking 
suggestions down at the playground.  It might be worth your time 
to make an appearance.  If nothing else, you can always drop by 
the swing set and see if it's still standing.


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