Pagers diaries with folded papers and worthless valuables, a shawl to the one who values it. Solid paper lines written over in blue ink are fragile to touch, for they are very old, kept since the enshrinement of the practice. Gold karats printed words on the bindery, chosen for its handmade quality and cared for as though it were a delicate flower, handled over many years without breaking. Achieving solitude over a common barroner lakeland foundation. Breathing deeply, entering the words that will mark an overall difference to its appearance. Harsh, cruel, ruined pictures drawn inside, tearing a hole through the page. The diary lost one page to crystallization in forces effecting its weight.

        The diary lasted for less than a year when it was thrown away. 

Debutantes, I have never known. School time propaganda, conceived to make someone rich. That is its only purpose. Patriotism too, of school. Boundaries of school, enemies on the other side, pep talks to rally them up, ethereal approach. Cursed and damned, the system. A long time ago were my experiences, but not so long that it has changed very much. Only perhaps each day makes it worse.

        They take it, they don't argue it. They get jawed and covered with shit. Spirit delicacies -- must be there within each soul or else doom predicted inevitable. The wrong flinch in a voice can cause the Doom Future Reaction. It horrified me.

        Do's and don'ts. Curb your appetite or die and got to hell forever and ever. Then you'll be sorry, they say. A desperate eye for approval is shrugged by an earmarked expression coined in a book special for that purpose. They made her feel like she doesn't know what the hell she is talking about, and they make her feel low, combination. It worked. And they knew it would. Perils bring out fear to a scorched iron holder forming drafts; cold water down hold back tears, chronically emitting a drum rim shot to announce what should have been permitted to be. Authority crap.

RIVER BED   88