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bright lights and shining faces.


I did figure I could scrawl some godloveresque
impressions of Bogart's...


mostly, my thoughts repeat.  every time I see these
lovely people, on stage, impassioned with soul and
dreaming and living and throwing it all out--I find
such peace and joy in that.  I delight that it is
received so well. I delight that they connect.  I
delight that they still enjoy their words, over and
over.

yeah.  they do get a little tired.  some times they
need a new dress or a string of pearls...but I think
they still know how to dance, to spin...

anyways.  I can't tell you much.  it's a whirlwind. 
seeing you folks, being in a jamjar assortment of
folks, being shoved and remembering I am not
particularly tall--it's always difficult to recollect.

I can't tell many faces or names.


I missed the charm of closer walls and ceilings.  I
missed plucking out my surroundings and stringing them
in garlands of words for you all.  

but--I enjoyed the fire OtR gains when you give them
an audience, bright lights, and applause.  there is so
much fulness in the presence of Brian, Terri, and Mr.
Bass-player-of-the-morphing identity...

(5:00am thought--perhaps this is truely the same
person, in differing attire, switching a facial mask
and abilities every few months...only a hunch..I'm
certain others shall offer some support with these
brilliant theories)

always good to sway there, sing there.  be engulfed by
the melodies and pure joy of it.
   it was also refreshing to hear a few numbers I
scarcely hear.  my love is a fever.  paul and v. 
gospel number.  tumbleweeds--damn.  i love tumbleweeds
and moth...

funny when they morph their music.  I love that.


a tip of the black fedora to:

ms. steph and her anderson posse.  you all were so
delightful and kindred to observe.   I really, really
wanted to become familiar and join the swirlings and
kickings and laughter.  you have quite some
exhuberance, ms. steph.  not to mention lovely tastes
that I would be prone to emulate.

ms. jess:  you know, the water on your ass--well, er. 
I was christening it, you see.  it wasn't an accident.
 asses must needs be christened.  the name is kept
secret, for safe and spiritual reasons I only reveal
on sunday's after a canned spaghetti dinner...every
full moon.  I am assured that you understand this and
will forgive the vagueness when the action was
executed.

mr. toast:  your calm company was also much
appreciated.  I'm curious of your booted collection,
naturally.  futhermore, just how one can fit all one
needs in a small backpack when all I need is
everything.  I guess because I packed all wordly goods
and beloved things in a satchel the size of texas.  I
admit, I was tempting fate and requesting some noble
chivalrous someone or another to insist I begin a new
life as an innocent farm girl raised by the
aliens...wait.  been there.  done that.

(it is five o' clock, folks.)

ms. ysoi:  need I say anything?  except mention your
delighted company and enthusiasm?

mr. drew, mr. emery, mr. bruce:  always a pleasure to
flirt and grin with your persons.

(yawn)

um...um...

magic.  joy.  fatigue.  words.  caught.  bottled. 
sleep.

finals roam near, and my days are growing occupied.  I
will yammer and beg for more mail soon...

God bless ye, God rest ye.

lynzi renee'.

(sleep, young woman!)


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