Sometimes I feel as though I ought to be carried off like a leaf in the breeze, a leaf in the stream, a leaf in�something. Fall off of a tree, float down, and just before I hit the ground, fly far off to lands unknown before crumbling to dust.

There�s something magical and sparkling about the very darkest parts of night. I can�t help but feel a strange�something. I don�t really know what. I feel like just�screaming names. Nothing real, not of anyone I know. Just, names.

I want to say Faustine at the top of my lungs. Right now. I will not,, though, because, Mum and Ruby will be irritated. Faustine is the name of the night, though.

I wonder if I would still type things if I closed my eyes. I cannot see anything and I think my fingers are landing in the right spaces, but I shan�t know for sure right yet. I always try to spell sure with an H and I don�t know why. My spelling has befun to deteriorate, and that�s sad. I will open my eyes again and the page witll be a sea of messy red wavy lines and bbits of green wavy lines.

I didn�t do that bad. Good one, Amy. CSNY is something wonderful and shocking and absolutely shiny. We have all been here before is not something I truly believe, but it�s a comforting thought. It means that nothing is too new, too terrible, too helpless.

Har-lickin�. Har-lickin�. True, yellow, misty, veiling the truth. Desdemona. It�s a night for names�I can feel it. Odessa. Odette. Renata. Rebirth. Whywhywhywhywhy.

I can�t type why too often�my fingers don�t like it. I want to screech, though. I think that�s the problem with society; we don�t screech when we feel it. When I am old, I will screech. I will cry out. I will be Amy unto myself.

Now I am Amy unto myself, of course, but I will tuly be so when I�m old.

Linger is one of my favourite words. How does someone linger and feel lost and look desolate. It�s a conundrum for the ages, I suppose. Jellicle. We are all for each other. The world is love. The world is lovely. The picks of a guitar are like lives strung together, making some odd little rhythm that we none of us can comprehend on our own.

I love CSNY. I love saying fre your mind. Free is a gorgeous a sound. I think that smiling is something absoilutely universal, just as they said. We learned as much in psych, and so it must be at least a little true. I love to smile at people now. I try to, even when they do not smile back. I love the words �silver people on the shoreline.�

It�s horrfying, and yet�silver. Shining, in a harsh, cruel, merciless sun. The sun, rather cartoonish on his unrelenting orange misery, with the silver people trapped under its glow. Not really a glow�it would be something much stronger, much more horrible.

Silver people would be a blessing and a curse.. In the light, they would be hard to look at. How do you stare at a silver person? The glint of the light would impossible it.

My nose is running with the fury of a musician whose music has been pirated. Z is a strange letter.

The verse take a sister by the hand makes me think of the name Barbara. I imagine a place where we might all laugh again, where people can�t be evil. Idealistic? Yes.

Cory hates hippies. But Cory is stupid sometimes. So I suppose it evens out.

I think that perhaps Robert would like CSNY. I�d like it if he did.

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