The pages start at the bottom. This may seem odd, but it's designed for daily writing and reading. In other words, if you read this regularly, it will be more convenient - no tedius scrolling.


October 31, 1996

October 30, 1996

All I write is gibberish really. -Carolynís Diary, October 30 1996.

Isn't it all though.

of course words are only words. of course the messages and instructions we can provide via words are limited by words. If we could easily describe our thoughts in a way that all could understand, would we bother? Of course thoughts are what really drive us. But! Imagine how much more difficult it would be to convey them?

We do communicate. But we know that we donít understand the other personís thoughts. Well, at least if we think we do, then it is either because of our limited ability to understand that we cannot, or because we think that everyone thinks exactly as we do.

why write at all if everyone else is going to interpret it the same way? If I interpreted your words in exactly the same way as you, then I would probably not read them. I would have a need to. If everyone interpreted them the same way they would be useless, mundane, rhetoric. Sometimes though, words are easy to interpret. Sure you cannot always interpret the thought behind them but most of the time you donít need to.

tool for sharing...sharing is useful because as humans we need to share. sure society is trying to mask this need, and is creating people who think they donít need others but do. Thatís why thereís no more 'true' joy in the world...

Itís always possible to see things in two lights simultaneously... But not many people have this ability. She likes to confuse, tantilate her audience. This gives her the Ďrise aboveí feeling...

science is evil, when it is where it is not supposed to be. _________________________________________________________

October 29, 1996

sex slaves let us pray for them...they know not what they do. is it possible that we are all one species? from the kindlest to the gentlest

the women who fold packages of spaghetti the ones who knit one perl two and then men, and women, who cause such harm, such disgrace. we hesitate to call human, and rightly so.

visions of soccorballs dreamlike on account of the good sleep.

the summet overlooked the entire richeleau valley. to the right, there was a small village, straight ahead, the winding river with the glare of the late day sun shining through it.

the beauty in that. the strife far away. a crucial mystery. good and bad? hmmmm

October 28,1996

What in the hell did they do to her? What could you possibly do to a child to give them such a dismal outlook on life? These people should be squeezed until their brains are forced to see the same pain that they have inflicted...OR! they are simply incapable of seeing what they are doing. It becomes the norm for them to unknowingly torture children into dysfunctional adults...actually it is poor them, not poor her...or these are one in the same right? Should we put them all in the same boat or should we assume that they should have the ability to prevent this from happening? Or at least, improve it? Can we just keep saying 'the parents made them that way?' I have been using this excuse (for others, not myself) all my life and now I am thinking that maybe it's time to change...

it's fun to be cheery and watch everyone around you. for once, i am the one smiling inside, watching those around me, in some varying degrees of misery...except her because it's difficult to relate when she is down and i am up. In any case, I am glad to be the UP one for now... I can see her so much more clearly when I am. The whole thing looks so simple...blowing things out of proportion. I know this because I have spent my life listening to people tell me that I think too much, thereby complicating my life beyond comprehension, when in actuality things are very simple if only you don't cloud your vision with junk...

Hey if they're crabby I have no reason to feel sorry for them and humour them.

I don't know if she'd print this, but in any case:

"This is my Diary"

She complains incessantly yet refuses to see anything and anyone around her. I know this is a hard habit to break and I don't know why I am thinking so clearly these days, I've been taking iron, could it be that? Should I suggest she take iron? What else in the hell could it be? My seven year period is over?

she writes:

"Part of the problem is really that I differ in what I consider being happy from most of my friends. I have my own sense of well-being inside that relies heavily on mental clarity and celar thinking. This reduces the time during which I can have quick and socially adept reactions. I'm in a life right now that utilizes these things well." (Carolyn L. Burke) (I hope she doesn't mind me quoting her here...)

I completely agree with Strider. she has what she needs. I wish I knew what brings me from lower levels to the higher one I am at now. I don't think that it is something you can do on your own. I don't think we can create this state, I think we are just lucky if we can somehow get here. If I knew how to get here, I would. I think well yes It has a lot to do with hope for the future. I feel some coming back now, eve with the misery surrounding me. Even with the miserable state this province is in, I have my own private hope for the future. Let's try this theory for a while. She has no hope for the future, and lives incessantly in, and for, the present. This is maybe dangerous and if you cannot see the light at the end, how can you go on? Now I am thinking about the refugees on tv last night. How can they go on? I bet they are less depressed than North Americans. Why? Because for whatever Godforsaken and beautiful reason, THEY have HOPE. This is what we, as a spoiled and pampered society, have little of for some stupid reason. Hey, if you never want for anything then you can never know the feeling of really appreciating anything right. That's what they have, the understanding of what is. A simplicity of life that is life itself. The gift to really taste, the gift to truly understand that life is made of simple things...this is where she and I are often fucked. Our brains, for some reason, tell us that life is a complex, sinuous winding and meandering of philosophy psychology and orbitals.

We are wrong. Dead wrong.

Ahhh! How lovely to think clearly, or at least to feel like I am. To feel tall, not powerful, to feel full, not rich, to feel alive, not living.

It's about a fine line-between being yourself but not stepping on others.

October 23 1996...





Oooo...this font thing bugs me! what a confinement for me...what a missing tool!

October 22, 1996...

another death dream. that's three since Sunday night. eeks.
it was my birthday. they gave me three large plants.
then cynthia was walking up the street. she stared back at me,
with emptiness and cold abandon in her eyes.
she stared at me, i stared at her. finally, she stopped.
We sat on the ground at the end of the driveway as she told me
that he had died last week. I was ripped to shreds;
and i didn't know whether it was because he was gone from this
place, or because she hadn't told me. I wept in her arms,
in the driveway. Then I was looking at his obituary on the web. 
the missing graphics were displayed as attachments. 
his name was certainly real. i wept uncontrollably. 
i awoke, shaking from the experience

when i awoke i realized that three people have died in my dreams since
Sunday. A, D, and now M. three men. not related.


could it be that she is merely, in her 'enlightened' intelligential state,
just extremely aware of things? thus explaining certain aspects.
but also the pain. the pain knowing what's around us. the pain knowing
the truth. the pain of understanding. so the pleasure is her, the pain as well.

the latest theory, and there aren't many.

photos in the leaves

i just realized, hey! i'll go and read my diary.. then i realized
 ...hey! i know what it says already.

just tell everybody what they want to hear.

this works quite effectively.


October 18,1996

the tree is red.
is something happening
all of a sudden she's miss confident-
funny thing, so am i. 
i think she believed me when i said that i was reading about me...
even though it is really hard to believe that someone can think like you do.
we like to think we are so original;
are we or are we not???

eager to hear from mrB.

so what i meant was: are we, she and i, dazed: stunned: crazy: fools: 
dreaming in technicolor; ...
OR are we dancing lovely visions of our beautiful realities in our 
minds-dancing on clouds of pure vision of clear thinking and feelings???
or are we dazed? dazed and stunned like no two people have ever been before?
that is the question, that's all.

people who make beautiful things don't rush to work at 8:45 home at 5:00 
and then to movies...
                they take time
                they concentrate
or do they?

1.  why i leave my i's small
2.  d(insert dates at top of page)
3.  d
4.  d
5.  d
6.  d

"september 10th: contemplating an on-line diary of sorts -
 it seems only to come as an extension of a home page.
 wait till they see sailor moon! boy will they be confused.
'my life... 'in a round about fashion'.

good to have projects, no?
and the guy says 'you gotta have content'. sure you do. 
just leave out enough stuff so they can't steal your ideas...
it's so open yet so private at the same time...