'In that direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, 'lives a Hatter: and in that direction,' waving the other paw, 'lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.'
'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'



I'm a photographer and model.
My journal is friends only. Comment (screened first) to be considered.

Adding selectively at the moment.

I am trying - the operative word is trying, to sort things out. To keep things from me. And to descry some new. I wish I had a room for myself where I could take a brush and colour the walls as white as snow to create the fundament of my thoughts. And then I'd take a pencil or whatever to get all this mess out of my head which I bottled up over years. The very idea makes me feel better. Dwelling on cogitations is not what I intend to do but giving them a structure. Like a collage of words which reflect why my head feels like it is going to burst because I am too angry to process my feelings.



And we weep we weep we weep the incredible tears that saints and holy men shed in their presence of their own incandescent gods.