As though I might want to forget certain events that I have endured, I might also like to reflect on other things that were eventful. Like...a beautiful day in my ever daunting youth, birds in the vicinity of a park, me young and pretty and still unaware. The fairies could still be heard, playing strange music, I know I heard the strange Pan like tunes, that only most children of a certain nature hear. Where was the sound coming from? It wasn't the family that I came from it wasn't the same as I had remembered...but I was having a wonderful time soaking it all in. What was it all about really? I was with a older man, a very common theme through out most of my life...why older men? What did they mean to me? What did they imply? As if ruled by the devil himself, I had this uneven desire to want to get to know men, I wanted to understand, "what was a man like"? What did men do? I didn't get it at all, I wasn't raised by 2 sets of parents, I was raised by a single Italian mother, who by most accounts was not to thrilled nor too fond of men.

          One might get the impression that a man might have some type of odor to stay away from, I never got the impression from her that I should persist in my questioning. Not even with my own father, it was as if a bad word had been said, he was a good man, or was he? If mother had her way, he might have been sent by the devil to see if her soul was ready to be burned at the cross. The many roads that were sealed in my mothers fate, were chosen well by her overtly strict Italian ignorant parents. They made her go to Italy to travel by night and day, (9) to be exact isn't that a universal number? That ought to mean that the number should inflict something on me for my entire life. It has, a curiosity as to how side lined I was in being able to view any part of reality or it's ideas with out a immediate sense of anger and a curiosity to know why it existed in the first place. Ideas about romance, ideas about being with a man, in the age of realism versus romantisim I failed, I wanted to go to bed with the men I encounterd, well some of the time.

          But what was the time? what was the reason? lonelyness? Such as drab dull creatures that can make themselves visible as though they were on some search for a monster, and then "you" come along, vunerable for a search of something, not quite sure what. But he is ready to help you find it, like a sub-creature that hasn't quite found it's own venom, only that as it ejaclulates out into the enviornment his element is exposed and protected in the sheath that is female and innocence evaporates into the misty fog air. With no pomp or circumstance, a sense of identy has now been formed that only the 2 people are witness to. Each with it's indignant other, only to be vetted by people who search for Fig Leafs in each others mist. Pointing fingers at invisible lies that are not yet thought in the mind, but exist in some exisential garden of lies that appear much like weeds, that demons detest, because they have to recreate their own soul again towards the earth and their eventual doom.

            Finding love in the garden of good and evil has just gotten harder, as the moist earth of Summer embraced me and my older neighbor, he with his boyish glasses on, with some what jaded blue eyes, looked clear to me that day. That day, beckoned forth clear with soft sunshine, streaming children running around in a park. What a great thing, not to mention the pretty couple sitting quitely while the girl was sucking on his penis, not to mention the motion quietly, yet sublimely taking it all in. Nobody knew, but her hair a soft sweet motion of identity tumbling across the park, that nobody knew existed just those that were there that day. The air was soft, his lips came towards me, what else was there to do, isn't this the way it looks in the movies? We didn't know who we were nor did we care, we just were, two people one considerably older than the other, he had said to me some words I will never forget. He commented on my eyes and said they were so clear, that isn't surprising for my soujourn into youth had no despair as of yet.

             But what was this feeling? was it delight, was it delicious his tongue carrasing mine, his mouth erasing all the ugly things it had ever said? The thing about kissing that made it so enjoyable was that more dissappeared, more things that I did not wish to acknowledge about this act of intimacy, this act of happiness this act of making out in the grass had such a stir to it. I almost forgot for that hour, that at one point we would get up still not quite sure why we were there that Summer day, before the last glimpse of Spring, was it that as well. My young girl life of Catholic good wishes, great demise of sin, and awareness that the devil was never far  from good in the garden. Nobody saw much of what others thought they saw, but what was good that I did see. I did see the universal theme, the fall out the damage, and the age of youth that would abondon these terrible trenches of thought and dangerous erioson of youth.

          The growth and cycle of a young girl are awkward indeed, full of mummies that stand tall and tell you things. What are there twisted messages of failed youth, hopefull misgivings, each with his or her own speel of truth based lies of deception. The ongoing desire to be close to create warmth and intimacy, depends on two things a man and a woman and two people who want it like that. But what could get hurt is the asking of why? As people explain those close encounters so do the realms of reality go out ward bound. We are a human people and we want to help others understand our strange and twisted beauty. As the seasons evolve around life and as life evolves around the seasons man will never quite concquer his need to examine and explore his own myth based deceptions.

            The deeper sense of things is to at times not know, but be aware and be shrewed to the many masquarders that encounter time and youth. Youth is a sweet venom, that can kill you. It can over come such explanation, it can expand it's own vision, until the vision that is truth will no longer be seen. It will comprimise it's own value at the sake of "yours" for one little bit of pleasure one will pay dearly in the fountain of innocence where one can see truly his or hers own intentions.