This post was last edited by MadPole on 12-Aug-2003 at 02:48.

The scissors snapped innocently. Hippopotamus couple was copulating lazily in a cooling comfort of river's muddy banks. The piano on the sixth floor resolutely decided to commit a suicide by drowning. The headless swan on TV aerial oozed pinkish-purple happiness.

"So what do you want it to be then?" nagged Him "who/what do you want me to be? Who/what do you wish you were? What the rest of the world should be like? How many things are wrong with it? How are you gonna to fix them? Oh come on sweet girl! Give yourself and others a break! What is - is. You can't change that!"

This post was last edited by MadPole on 12-Aug-2003 at 02:52.

"And I also write a bit" said Brian sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with any of the examiners. "I mean, nothing special, just for myself really, I don't publish it anywhere or anything, I just write for the pleasure of writing, I have met so many people who, when attempting to write something, set themselves goals and means of accomplishing them and are very serious and business like about the whole thing - and as a result they imprison their joyous creativity and talent before they even get started. I write in order to learn how to draw a pleasure and consolation from writing. My other hobbies are walking, reading and playing bridge."

This post was last edited by MadPole on 12-Aug-2003 at 02:54.

It was strange and disconcerting, this feeling. This feeling of not having normal, care-free life other people have. The feeling of being left behind, on one's own. The feeling of constantly having to start, from scratch, while others seem to be already reaping the fruits of their steady progression. Of course, studying psychology for nearly 25 years taught Dr Tightarse that such feelings are just an outward manifestations of furious battles between different parts of human psyche. But even he, he who understood it all - even he could not liberate himself from those awful feelings.

The Mother-Duck was becoming irritated. Her six babies were crying loudly, paddling frantically in the small enclosure, separated from the rest of the lake by narrow, concrete path raised above the water on thick concrete poles. The water level was so high that it reached concrete slabs and nothing could swim underneath. The Mother-Duck would gather all her children around the path. Then she would fly on it, walk across it, jump to the water on the other side and swim away, waiting nervously for her little fluffy cute babies to join her. But they wouldn't because they couldn't. The Mother-Duck would soon surrender to their cries, come back, repeat the whole procedure of crossing the concrete path in reverse order, swim with her off-spring for a while and then she would try to encourage them to cross the barrier all over again.

Your soul is beautiful. It always was. It always will be. Impeccable, crystalline outwardly dazzling and vibrating mixture of wonderful colours, interacting, exchanging and intermingling in an effortlessly magnificent formation. Softer than the air brushing against your face, gentler than the whisper of grass in the prairie, your soul floats and flows fabulously, offering harmony without perseverance, love without hate, joy without struggle. And nothing, absolutely nothing can touch it and overshadow it - your soul is indestructible, unchangeable and free to take any form or shape - for your soul is absolute and complete, its beauty infinitive and timeless.

This post was last edited by MadPole on 15-Aug-2003 at 08:28.

"I like people to think I am who I am not" said She "because that gives me a freedom to be somebody I never have been before. And who knows, I might start to like it....."

"You mean your are looking for love partner in....inside yourself?!" screamed He "But that's selfish and disgusting!"

"NO! It is not like that at all" calmly replied She "I am searching for the person I like to be, I am searching for myself - for only after I have established an intimate and loving relationship with myself I can love others"

"Hmmmm" was all he could muster "Hmmmmmm..."

This post was last edited by MadPole on 19-Aug-2003 at 03:11.

"Who are you?" Inspector Littlebum asked "What are you doing here?"

"We are just a faint memory Officer" replied They in unison "We are here because we remember who we are Sir, that's what we are doing, remembering, always remembering. 'Here' is not important here Sir. Neither are we"

"Get the hell outta here!"

This post was last edited by MadPole on 19-Aug-2003 at 03:11.

"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" She screamed in agony "Why do you always do this to me?! Why do you always insist that I am missing the whole point, that I am rejecting my own happiness for the sake of suffering and misery, you think I don't wanna be happy you idiot? It is easy to criticise but what practical advice can you offer me then? It is you who just moans and moans and sees everything in a negative light, not me! For Harry Potter's sake! Stop judging me and help me you silly boy!"

This post was last edited by MadPole on 19-Aug-2003 at 03:11.