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From: Scott in Sask
Date: 06 Dec 2004
Time: 01:25:52 -0500
Remote Name: 142.165.180.27
It is with no real goal that I write this except for the fact that maybe an echo will reach me from this stone dropped into the dark. I've read Lorca's speech on Duende, and I wonder how you get his attention? how do you sneak, slide, trip or hide from this living glass that delights in mirroring my own movements? in what way do I gain access to "The remotest mansion of my blood"? Where does someone define passion in more than name only? Where is that well that Duende sits at laughing, carving an apple into something more suiting to him before he takes a bite? Has anybody just caught themselves in mid-stride in their living room and wondered, "Is this it"? When does honest introspection cross the line into goofy melodrama? Thanks for the borrowed seconds.