Virtually Yours:
Carolyn L Burke
My Cognitive and Physical Landscape
Page 6


Be warned: This is my diary... clb

Go to today's entry first. Or start at the beginning. This is page 6 of my diary, and follows on the previous pages in some web-like sense. The other pages were full. So soon I need an index for my diary.


Sunning Day.

Sun Jun 4 1995

I'm off to get a tan. Good book, a bowl of salty olives, a sun deck and me.

I spent the morning researching whether one can take a course on the 'net in multimedia publishing on CDRoms. These are as elusive as cacti pix.


After Words.

Sun Jun 4 1995

Crying again. I have been getting angrier and angrier all day. Every kid laughing outside the window has me irritated. Its June, and I guess its only going to get more social outside my windows. I have shared decks on every side. Its a beehive of activity. Barbeques, basketball, chinese fortune books. Public.

I finally went to a movie across the road only to see a story about two strangers on a train in Europe spending only one night getting to know each other. Finally I no longer want to see movies for teenagers. its taken so long for me to be cynical about ideals and dreams. But I have gotten there. Too many dreams are missing. How many movies about Paris are there going to be this year? Weird.

Oh, did I mention my life is perfect? How can I feel this way if it is? This is no ethical issue. This is the lack of ability to enjoy enjoyment. Ridiculous. Which is simply name calling. I ought to at least try to figure out why. I decided to write this evening to get at things a little more deeply. I need the output channel. No throughput today.


Tired Feet.

Mon Jun 5 1995

People without lives shouldn't go and take over other people's lives. I have been a fool for thinking that I can manage a friend who refuses to have a life. Sterile people deserve sterile friends. And energetic people with a sense of life deserve that type.

Everyone around here is saying that they ought not to be treated badly. Fuck them. No one ought to be treated badly, but some of them are merely mimicing the others in claiming the right to being treated in very good ways. Sterile people don't have the right to my life force. (Assuming I have any.)

Why do only people who think of themselves as writers want to meet me? I like people who experience things. In any fashion. I am not a writer in any sense of the word. I think that any medium is good for expression, expect academic papers, and wish that I had the skill to paint or sing. Perhaps though the very act of expressing puts me in the class of people who express - which excludes me from seeming compatible with those who don't so much. WRONG! This form of expression is at most and best a practice ground for me to express what really goes on in me. Someday, I'll get into the real world at real time full time. The we'll see.

To the guy on Queen St this morning who told me my legs were terrific - in front of a cop who did nothing to stop him: just wait till you see what my brain is capable of.


Mrrm.

Tue Jun 6 1995

Yesterday morning... I woke up with a start. For the first time in a long time I had a purpose for the day. My car was parked below my apartment at a meter all night, and I knew, as only the foolish can, that I had to move it before 9am whent he meters started counting again. And as it was only 7am I decided to leisurely get dressed to go downtown before moving the car. In fact I thought I would take the thing as the opportunity I have been waiting for to purchase a parking permit. I know this sounds obvious, but the mere suggestion of seeing a bureaucrat should have tipped me off.

I got dressed, grabbed all of the paperwork that the bureaucrat might require, swept up my keys, and went off out the door, at a quarter to nine. Boy, was I proud of myself as I hit the street.

And discovered that my car was missing!

The signs onthe street informed me as I read them that there is a No Stopping rule between, you guessed it, 7am and 9am, before the meters take effect at all. So there I was ina hurry and without wheels.

Well I just moved out on my own, and I decided that it would look really foolish to lose my car in the first month. In the past I might have begun to worry myself about its location in a week or so. I remember getting pissed off at a Canadian Tire mechanic for refusing to take a credit card, and just leaving my car there for a month! :)

This time, I tried a new strategy. Running through my mind was the list of names I could call to help get me out of the problem. Instead I called the police. Exactly who is one to phone to find out about a missing car? I looked in the white pages and in the government listings for quite a while before simply giving up and calling the cops. Turns out, they were the ones to call. !! Weird. Why isn't there a listing under:

Missing Vehicles -- See Thieves and/or Police
Yeah that would go over well -- a phone book that honestly listed the products and services available. We could have listings like:

Harassment -- See Reporters, Dead White Males and/or Annoyed Ex-spouses
Pain and Agony -- See The S&M Community and/or Doctors
and it could be called "The BLUES Pages".

I called the cops. After 10 minutes of not a sound, a guy told me his badge number and asked about my calling. I told him my car was missing and did he know who to contact. I was suddenly on hold again - not another word out of him. I must have done something evil already!

Minutes went by again. So much for being in a rush. The woman who answered finally informed me that my car hadn't been registered as having been towed away by them. Perhaps I should register it as stolen. I laughed so loudly. Although its a nice car, I doubt that it is really steal-worthy. It just isn't. [The story gets funny by the end. I promise.] After calling JP's Towing Company, I found my car. With address in hand, and $2.00 for the subway, I was on my way again.

With a choice between having a car to park downtown inorder to get a parking permit, and having a parking permit in hand to take it home again with instead, I decided to get the permit first. So half way to JP's I turned around onthe trains and headed towards downtown. My skills as a navigator really suck. There are two political centers downtown, Toronto City Hall, quite a majestic place having been built by aliens to surround their flying saucer with, and Queen's Park, the legislative center of Ontario (to all my old students in the US, Ontario is a province in Canada -- sorta like a state!). I took the subway to the wrong one of course, and then walked the difference. It was really nice out.

It turns out that the big censorship ban, er, censorship or ban, has ended on the KH -- PB/PT has ended. As I walked to the permit office, I crossed through a good twenty reporters I front of the courthouse. Cute. I think I'll put on a long black dress, a Jackie Kennedy hat, veil and sunglasses, and sit in on the hearings. Those bored reporters could use a "mystery woman" to report on! giggle

KH -- PB/PT

I made it to the office. I got a permit -- not one that would let me park where I have been parking for a month mind you. That turns out to be on the wrong side of the road. I am to park on the otherside of the road - the one my apartment is on. Very foolish bureaucrats. There I am with a preference. There are empty spaces in both zones, and yet there is a bylaw that says I can't have my way. My way was wanted by me because in thenew zone there is a 1 Hour Parking sign during the day. The bureaucrat assures me that I will nt get a tag for parking there during the day. Yeah right. He wouldn't sign a paper saying this. I told him I would sue him and the city when I got mugged from having to move my car so often ina slightly bad neighbourhood! He replied that I can't sue the city -- I guess leaving only him! If only I knew his name! Me and bureaucrats.

But remember this is only the beginning of the adventure. Now to free my car from bondage. Off I went on foot. Permit in hand. And as it turned out address only in mind. About 45 minutes later, I arrived. The huge leap of adrenalin from having crossed the CN Rail tracks just before meeting JP served me well. I was really bitchy to the fellow. :) Who wouldn't take advantage of him for a $100 non-voluntary fee? Little did I know that I wasn't playing a one shot prisoner's dilemma. I got my car out of hock after tussling with the guy for wanting to see my ID, and then after properly sticking all of the proper stickers on the annoying thing, drove away. I felt really sociable after that and called Peter to invite him for lunch. Weirdly enough, he and Nedra were stting around composing responses to my ethical meanderings of the other day here, and Peter requested that I get together with him later. I said that was not what I had in mind, and asked him point blank whether he would simply come to lunch rightthen or not. Under that condition, he said no.

Still rather happy andexcited, I drove over to Richard's to invite him and Andrea to lunch. We had a fun time at the Butler's Pantry, my regular hang out, and then I dropped them both off.

Now comes the funny part. When I got back here, I found a note under my door from Peter saying that he had oly wanted 20 minutes, and a message on the machine saying the same and that he was onthe way over. An hour previous to when I picked it up. I figured he was probably still in the neighbourhood.

A couple of hours later, he indeed knocked on the door. Only to start telling me that his car had been towed, and did I know where JP Towing was! Not believable - no way. We walked down to JP's again, and the guy behind the counter and I smirked our heads off. So much for the one shot PD! I should have won the customer ofthe day award! For $200 Peter and I could have done so many things. We really do deserve each other. :)

I really will have to give up thinking I can beat the bureaucrats someday.


The other evening, Richard, Kathleen and I sat around discussingthe nature of their strategies with bureaucrats. Each of them is a master (or mistress! right K?) of winning in such a situation. Richard's trick is to know the rules two years inadvance, and to have laid the groundwork exactly out so as to maximize the gains he wants, and eliminate the losses. I look on this whole procedure as a loss, but nevertheless as quite impressed by his fluid movements in such situations. Kathleen's strategy is to loudly and chronicly announce that the rules and regs don't fit her situation at all. This works. Last month she was offered a job on the spot during one such performance - as coordinator of complaints for the office. Unbelievable. And of course, she got what she had gone for - a major exception to the rules.

I hope I haven't given away all of the secrets of their respective trades!


Aaron.

Wed Jun 7 1995

...
On himself.
...
On me.
...
On writing an online diary.
...
On Canadians.
...
On writing as a form of expression.
...
On living freely.


Content.

Wed Jun 7 1995

I think its becoming really fun to have expanded my life on the Internet as part of its content. The ratio will never recover though as more people move on to the net. There used to be the news groups to talk in and the only strucutre one could add was another group, either quickly and often in jest, or slowly through the referendum processes.

Then came gopher, and then www, and now we have structure blooming. Where previous mediums were minimal in structure, having simple and unalterable tree-like relations internally, the new net is many layered. Metaphors do not do this justice. The net is the best metaphor for itself. A reporter asked me the other day ifthe Internet was like a network of networks. How do you explain that this worn-out cliche misses the point?

Look around the www. There are simple pages everywhere. Lists of links, big and slow image maps (not all of us live at the terminals of the servers), page of the days. Isn't it interesting to note that the smallest segment of time that these award pages find new winners is an indication of how long it takes to find a new interesting page on the net. Perhaps a day is the shortest you can leave the winner up to get a regular audience. Perhaps not. Either way, these award winners end up in a list of old winners. I'd like to see a site with the guts and marketing savvy to link only the current winner, drawing people to the site each day so as not to miss out. Perhaps movie critics should do this as well. Why should all the type they print live forever. [Ohoh this is getting close to home. Should my diary entries vanish as they become old?]

The idea that most of the internet is becoming structure and failing to add content in some way is extreme for sure. I should be clearer. There are many individuals and organizations adding content, either in the form of previously only printed media electronic versions, or in ways and manners that allow the new medium to influence and create their output. Both will serve to create a new community of people.

But still fast rate at which development of new browsers and new addons for the web is carried out - in part due to the desire to cash in at the beginning - influences how much time the end user will spend installing upgrades and improvements as compared to adding value on their own. Given a finite amount of time, how much time should be spent on each activity. I know people who live for their next upgrade, seemingly addicted to the state of the art in whatever technology they find themselves using. Others like me end up feeling a little backwards when I don't rush out the same day that Netscape announces a new beta version; backwards, but without a concern for the new crop of bugs in the software! I ony have a 386 on my desk, beside a PowerBook 100. I could swap both in for even last year's models. But I know these machines. They do what I wnat them to. I get to produce the content I want with them, and well gee, I saved quite a few thousands of dollars with this attitude. I feel the same way about the www.

I enjoy and find prodcutive the utilizing of a medium to the fullest it is capable. Give me html 2.0 and I will invent <hr> art:




And I don't stop there. With html 3.0 I'll go even further with flashing backgrounds, scrolling title bars, and funny embeds in table cells. Who knows what else is possible. Where others rely on new features being documented before they use them, I explore the medium of Advanced Duct Tape html and create my own graphic effects.

I don't see why the www should be any different. Let's not only create archives for others' outputs. Let's also create our own things.

With the availability of self-publication and self-promotion, get with it and go for it! Say what you want to. Make it noisier around here!


Peep.

Wed Jun 7 1995Another peep out of me. :) I didn't get the CBC spot. Darn. Next time I will! And my new cat friend has a cold. I'll have to ask Ego about her vet! Life is interesting!

And tonight I'm off to visit with Billy Graham. He's in town and I just have to see this to believe it -- ah, not literally.

More interestingly are the relationship alterations / altercations that postcede ultimatums. Peter educated everyone in these, and now we all do them. But what it really comes down to is who generates life sense and who doesn't. I hover in the middle, sometimes doing one, sometimes the other.

Maybe Billy will cure me... ;>


Smoother Still.

Thu Jun 8 1995

I'm restless today. I've been fiddling with things in email and on the web. The adrenalin of the past few days is missing, and I caught up n my sleep finally. But these do not make a life. Am I too critical of the dull parts of living?

Billy was sick. My first and only evangelist meeting, and the guy sits in the hospital instead. he sent a tape asking for hte prayers of everyone for almost everything. what really killed me was the prayer that the president ofthe women's league of ... said. She had everyone give thanks for the SkyDome - the building where the big meeting was being held. i'm sure many have heard of it given the Blue Jays previous successes there. But they've got to be kidding.

Unfortunately, I thought the whole thing was rather dull, and I fell asleep during the singing. One interesting note was the tactic of making every attendee feel that they were special. Everyone present, say 40,000 people, was each made to feel an intimate member of the inner circle of whatever that religion actually is. They were also made to feel personally responsible for the success of the whole event, and asked to volunteer to contribute money. No surprise there.

One preacher suggested that there were millions of people all over the world praying for the SkyDome at that very moment. He said it was the most prayed for location in the world. I would have given heaven the number one spot, or even Graham's hospital room, but what do I know. He was probably right too. Remarkable. It seemed an odd thing to mention over and over - the location of the "Mission". Perhaps it has some symbolic significance. I don't get it.

another's 59 lines of thoughts on the event and the general state of things


Untitled.

Fri Jun 9 1995

Well, the CBC just called again. They now have me on standby because one of their guests is sick. :) Who knows what will become of this adventure. I wonder if this level of controlled chaos is regular for them? At least I have my adrenalin fix again.

How do you explain to a friend of the male persuasion that sexuality is not a necessary part of communication? Why must this always become an issue? I have absolutely no preference for female friends over male friends except that around the former, I can relax and not be mistaken for being sexually interested. Why does relaxing become an indication of sexual approval? I don't think it is. Why would a man think that a none relaxed woman is not sexually interested but that a relaxed woman is? Is tension this society's manner of displaying disapproval? Hmm.

Simply annoying. When I was first involved with being a sexual being I was around 17. I had just gone off to university and figured out that it was really easy to keep an interesting male person around by having sex with him. My strategy used to b explicitely to swap sex for learning whatever they knew about whatever I was interested in. When they stopped knowing things I didn't, I moved on, finding them no longer sexually interesting. I still find this a useful way to swap things, but I have such a large array of things to swap now that it is no longer really necessary. I figured that one out when I was about 21, I guess.

I guess that means I have no use for sex at all now! Heh. Perhaps there are other uses?

There is one fellow in particular, who knows who he is because I've told him so, who is causing me much anguish - spinning between friendship and sexuality. I wish he'd get a grip.


Cat Politics.

Sun Jun 11 1995

Cats have it easy. Their politics are clearly and easily gender based. The length of tail and toughness of cheek determine who is dominant. So simple. Humans should take a few lessons.

It's not that humans don't know how to do these few things. On the contrary. They seem to try to complicate these issues, what with making bigger things, and tougher armour. Keep it simple, I say. Just like olympic athletes should only compete if they keep their amateur status and remain un-enhanced, so the rest of us should place some limits on such things as a fair volume of silicon implants, hair replacement formula, flashy car expenditure, and number of snazzy gold cards.

I'd take a lesson from cats. they might have a really dreadful sense of humour fromour point of view, butI suspect that they live without any political repression as we humans seem to do usually.

On the other hand, although it might be useful to let the cat fights determine who gets to parade around a territory, I think I'd baulk a bit at letting this also determine who is mating with whom on any particular day. I think we should look to the Canada Goose for that one. They barely have tails!


Weathering.

Mon Jun 12 1995

I'm a little under the weather finally. What with this war with a close friend about being a not sexual person wth him, and with the strangenesses of living alone.

I felt so alone falling asleep last night. Knowing that the person I love is happily cocooned with another person, and never will be that way with me. I don't know how to bear it sometimes. I know this makes him a happier person. This keeps me strong about hurting so usually, but not as a fell asleep last night. I know what a breaking heart feels like. Finally. miauuu

I've heard them refered to as they too many times now. They are a couple in their own eyes. Must I allow the slow crawl of their togetherness exact a slow torture on me? It seems to be necessary to salvage what I can. But I am being the typical fool. By modern standards, yes. Loving without the return, not of love, but of companionhip. That is what I cannot have. I am too sharp and horrible to encourage that.

It feels like everything around me is square shape while I long for a curve, a bend in the fabric of thought. A creative nudge away way far from right. Not even obtuse will do. Beautiful though a sine wave can be in a moment of repetitive glorification, still even more a curve in a curve, a draughtsmans french curve loosely arching for the pencil. [God, I loved draughting. Always a feeling of completeness at the end of the drawing. Thick and thin lines of lead holding together the translated three dimensional world in two. The only set of conventions I've ever learned.]

I have lived a life which surrounds me as a consequence with grey squares, not colourful bouncing spheres, or billowing clouds of blue. I see Peter as a yellow orange ameoboid - constantly changing shape. Sometimes a pseudopod becomes angular - fitting into a world of lines. Usually comforting and warm, although excitably crystalline for moments at a time.

I don't see myself. At all usually. I count the people in a room, and come up one short. And foolishly I also forget to cause things at these times. I want to always remember to be a causal entity. So now I need to create and attract curves.

I am finished crying again. I'll be strong and happy and make the best I can happen. I hope I am right. I hpoe that standard wisdom is, like usual, full of shit.


Weathered.

Mon Jun 12 1995

I called Peter. I decided that I've had enough being dicked around. he loves someone else. he is a we with someone else. He stood me up yesterday and before over and over. He doesn't really want to see me. I don't cause him to be anything other than drained. Fine. As he and Nedra dump their respective commitments to live in an illusory web of mutual reassurance, I think unlike the other respective commitment, I'll get the fuck out now. Before the whole thing becomes obviously not about me.

Time to get a bank account of my own. I guess that was the last link. Except my cats. I wish I could deal with that.

A sharp razor "NO" sliced through my red thoughts, high-pitched screaming out of my mouth into emptiness. Noone hears. I am alone.

I like the aloneness. But I am crying so hard as my fingers shake out these letters. Here at least my thoughts come in order, and I feel like the universe could possibly make sense. We create so much of it, and dissolution into angerpain isn't helpful really. Skipping along merrily I am not sane feeling anymorenow. It will return though, in squares. No more the thoughts of warm curvey friendship. Only memories, something I rarely have.

I don't like the sense of loss. The sense that something good could have happened if I could have held my breath instead of calling this morning. I couldn't. It hit me too hard, this sense of wanting to be held all night, of knowing I am so close inside him that we could not ever be apart. I picked the wrong person. I picked an empath who lived through all the pain I normally traverse without notice. Why couldn't he listen to my outside, the parts which were to be given over tht would have tasted good to him. Why did he have to always listen tothe pain more than anything else? I wanted to share the nice happy things instead. But now I will find them for myself alone, and keep them inside me. A wellspring of energy to radiate out in all directions without preference.

I will not choose to love again. I have done so only once, and it was worth it. I have understood the deep importance about humanity - that full embracing can lead to new wonders, while a mild sense of attachment lingers not at all.

I expect that he twists inside in pain now. I wish that were not so. But ... always a but ... I need him to go away forever. And I need him to hold me tightly now.


Cactii.

Tue Jun 13 1995

After only ... a few months ... the cactus of choice, many thanks to Miles Finlay for the combination of hobbies and interests that leads him to do great artwork particularly of cactii!


Visual Test.

Tue Jun 13 1995

Alright. The following is a sort of informal survey to settle a dispute. One of the graphic designers at work and I cannot agree on ... well that's what I need to settle with a survey. After a couple of weeks, I'll post the results... promise! Please click below for a short perception test. You'll be able to send me a piece of email anonymously which will be used to generate some statistics about a mostly totally trivial matter of import to very few in this large world - of course - this trivial few includes me. :) If you include personal comments about other aspects of things in the diary, then you'll get a response (maybe). Otherwise, you'll become a much desired opinion only!

Here goes:




V.I.S.U.A.L...T.E.S.T




Casualties.

Wed Jun 14 1995

"Right then." My mum used this expression a lot when she was a little wistful. I thin I've picked up much of her cliches. Lucky me.

"Can an individual exist within a model that defines only collectives?"

Well, Tracey and I are off to dinner now.


Fundamentals.

Thu Jun 15 1995

Some people draw out interesting ideas in conversation. Others point at their own concerns so strongly that it becomes alomost impossible to hold a meaningful dialogue without simply fighting for control ofthe subject matter. I suppose there are other strategies. Curious that I don't really know which strategical type I use. [No beautiful friendly cats. Neko arrives -- to look out the window. I wonder instead what Dagney is doing. Neko is not quite grown up yet, I think. This is too sad.]


?

Thu Jun 15 1995

I don't seem to feel like writing as much today as I often do. I hope I'm immortal. I think about thining a lot, and about the structure of many things. Plants are my basic source of structure modelling. If a plant has done it structurally, then I am fairly sure of learning something from it. Plants have done it -- they represent the empirically possible, not simply the logically possible as does mathematics.

And they make no sound as I watch.


Paris.

Fri Jun 16 1995

I've suspected that I should be off to Paris for awhile. There have been so many mentions and such of that place. Perhaps not more than ever before. But they poke into my awareness in odd ways, making me think there is significance to it. And so there becomes some.

I have a friend there. Someone who won't talk with me anymore. We hit it off but in the end were too foreign to each other to communicate about what we cared about individually. As I left graduate school, he left for Paris. We both ran away in a sense. And yet, I think he did not understand that I was not cut out for that high stres, low yield life style, one that he chose and has succeeded at. I think he saw that I judged his success as failure, rather than as just not for me. For me, there are other types of success that make me feel happy, that are worth the costs.

The regret of failing in this leads me there to fix what I broke. Several months ago, I think was worn thin. I don't think my friend, who didn't know me for long, knew me other than as thin. He watched me get worse too. And I became only a burdensome annoyance that he still cared about. Sometime, I will speak with him again when I have thickened my soul again with richness and happier vibes. I don't enjoy leaving the regret hanging like this.

Paris will have to wait a little longer. It is his city now. It is him that I wonder about even though I could send email so simply as if I still saw him in person.

Friends are interesting to have, even if they are so very different. Especially if that really.


Why Not.

Sat Jun 17 1995

Three things converge:

1 ... Locally, we have a television station, Citytv, which broadcasts Speaker's Corner, a show created from the contributions -- on video -- of our local citizens. People sing songs, grip about politics and their love lives, recommend bars to each other, and campaign for office - all for a charitable dollar.

2 ... Lately I've been reading short stories and novels in genres other than science fiction. Although this is somewhat accidental -- my local library doesn't categorize its books all that well -- it is interesting. I have oly read sci fi previously. Suddenly I see why. Non-science fiction stories (do they have a name?) are snapshots of people and their lives - and usually shocking or horrible. Always a sense of fatalism.

3 ... The predominating presence of soap opera plots in media, from the news to Star Trek to casual conversatinal gossip.

Why do I mention these things, and more to the point, how are they related? People are interested it seems in raw accounts of non-fiction, personal opinions and life stories of each other. Is this a sign of our times alone, or has the species always dwelled in collective recursiveness this way?

Small communities try to take up the burden (as it is now seen), as do, it seems, the televised soap operas and Oprahs. We may not find the room to gossip about our neighbours, but most of us know how OJ and Paul Teale and Captain Janeway are doing. Perhaps we as humans are satisfied with any soap opera sensation. We have fooled our sense of community by substituting in media and Hollywood communites - caring more about Connie Chung and Arnold S. then about the local corner store owner. In past times, this latter individual would have been rather well-known.

People keep asking me about why I would place writings such as these online, for all to read. Essentially, I need to be in a community as a character, as a participant. If Al and Peggy Bundy matter to the average person - as if real - why shouldn't Frank and Mary Burke?!

We are all reponsible now to create our own virtual communities. If becoming a character in the minds of other persons in such communities is no longer as simple as letting the town gossip hear just a little of the truth, then each of us with a desire to play a causal role in the play oflife has to stand up in some new way. Far from letting the mass culture push me aside as just another viewer, I take a stand about myself. I create some of my persona as a direct feed into others' minds, as much as Woody Allen or Buddha have.

Some of us may take the view that it is enough that a few friends and colleagues know of us. But that double standard hurts me. Perhaps I am merely old-fashioned in thinking that I want to be known by anyone I meet as if the town-gossip had gone ahead of me. Perhaps all of us have this drive, and we each find a way to fill it long after the days of small town comfort are available to most. Or, perhaps I am only like the few people who have gravitated to societally-known spots in the job spectrum.

But doesn't the existence of the as I felt it literature of the 20th century and the many people who actually want to appear on Jeraldo or Sally Jesse in spite of the fact they are made fools of usuaully indicate that we really need this feeling of being known?

Isn't Speaker's Corner filling this need? I know so.


.

Sun Jun 18 1995


.

It's nice to know Wed Jun 21 1995

nothing.

...flip the page...


finale


All non-daughter writings of Carolyn's Diary are not copyright © Carolyn L Burke, 1995, and may not be copied without permission except for non-commercial gain. See what your lawyers can't make of that.


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