Helow.

Thenk yoo fer cumming tew mah blawg. It'sa prittee guhd blawg. Ah layk tew rite lawts uv thengs abowt plaeing chekers in tha rayn. That's my fayvorite teng tew dew; plae chekers in tha rayn.

A New Phantasmagoria Play

I would like to ask the help of anyone who reads this on a story idea that I have. Since I have virtually no readers, I guess I'll just ask generally. I have been inspired recently by Pan's Labyrinth, by The Science of Sleep to write a play about a certain young adult who confuses fantasy and reality. I'm not sure how to proceed though. I would like to be able to depict their inner life crossing over or overlapping their 'real' life. The way that I have to do this so far is to have some fantasy character or monster come on stage at times who the main character, (male?) will converse with. This would be one way of putting their inner life on display, showing a kind of inner monologue. One of the catches is that the main character is about eighteen or twenty and still has this imaginary friend. At other times, the other 'real' characters in the play could be shown as the main character sees them, in phantasmagorical costumes, physiognomical representations of their personalities. I am not sure about a lot of details. How clear should this crossover be? Should it be clear which part is fantasy and which is reality? Are there other ways to show the character's inner life? What does this character want? Is there a love story? (I think there is) Is the love requited? What kind of family does this person have? Does he live with them? Is he funny? Do they understand him? What is the conflict? These are all the questions I need to answer, but I am asking them of you as well, if you have any thoughts or insights. Peace,

Leopold

The Unfortunate Annals of Alfonso McPhee

Alfonso McPhee is stupid. He’s utterly a numbskull in the highest degree. I know this, because the other day I saw him laying down in a little brook, not even deep enough for him to totally submerge his pale skinned body in (the water was very dark around him, and folded over him crisply) and I said, Alfonoso, why are you laying in that borok, don’t you know you could get geodia, or bloodsucking leaches?? And he replied calmly, “Who cares about bloodsucking leaches, I’ve got plenty of blood, and there’s quite enough to share.” But I persisted, surely because I was concerned for the general staten of his health, and I said, “Alfonso, it’s February, you’ll catch your death of cold, surely as sure as I’m Leopold Lepin.” But still he remained there heedlessly, basking in the chilly icy aquatic trickle, and asking nothing of no one, and occasionally looking up at the sky, and remarking, “Leopold, isn’t that a big sky? What a big sky that is! How very very big. Oh I am glad the sky is so big today.” And I could only roll my eyes, for he would not listen to my reasonable persuasions that the sky was immaterial, and could be neither bigger nor smaller than yesterday. And that to find it remarkable was quite as silly as being amazed the you woke up, when you’ve woken up every day of your life, and reason tells you that it’s going to keep happening for a while. Silly as laying down in a brook full of bloodsuckers in February. And he informed me that one day I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, and that every day after that I again and again wouldn’t wake up in the morning, and I said “I don’t like you, and you look like a diarhetic partridge, and I went bowling.

See, I told you that Alfonso McPhee was a fool.

WhatEver are you, Leopold?

A lot of people have come up to me and asked me, “Leopold, what species are you? I tell them that I got the butterfly wings from my mother’s side of the family and I got the tusks from my father’s side. But if I had my choice, I’d have bought a house on the lakeside, and had some webbed feet, too. No such luck. Alas, I can’t quite tell you what I am, because there’s been no precedent for a confuence of such disparate physical features as mine. nevertheless, I try my best to fit into society, make my contributions, and have a little fun here and there. You have to enjoy life. That’s what my old grandfather told me. “Enjoy it, every minute, it’s the only one you get.” I don’t know if that’s true or not.

Now despite my butterfly wings and tusks, I actually read lather a mundane exhubrence. I mean, I don’t go out with a lot of people, though alot of people have asked, but I always feel they aren’t really seeing me for me. I don’t go many places. I can’t get up the courage to dance, and so my life seems to be rather unpercolated, socially speaking, of late. Little kids give me silly stares sometimes, and I give them conniving grins in return, because that seems to be what they’re looking for, and mostly, the giggle with glee. But most of the time, their parental units escort them off after getting a good look at me, which leaves me gloomily glum.

So if you have been wondering anything that that was an answer to, then there you have it.

With my own eyes

I want to write something beautiful for you to read, that will be like entering a meadow on a sunny day after walking through a dark, cold forest. I want to show your breath in the cold, crystal in the air. And want you to feel the thunderstorms in your bones, and the rain wetting your nostrils. But I don’t know where you are in that forest. I don’t know which part you’re in, only that we’re both there somewhere, and so I can’t tell you which way to go. All I can do is yell very loud and hope you’ll hear me. But I don’t think it’s enough to yell about myself, about the spot that I am in in the forest, because you’re not there, so what good does it do you? And besides, it’s dark in the forest, and we can’t see very well. So what good does it do to know what someone else can’t see when you can’t see either? Well, maybe a little, but only when talking about what’s dark is counterpart to talking about what’s light. So I should just yell, “Hey, somewhere there’s a big sunny meadow. Go find it. And when you get there, shout back at me, so I can follow your voice there, and be with you, and see your face.”

Leo

Leopold, they call me. How did I get that name, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Because I'm absolutely the best at stamping price tags on canned goods. That's how I got my name.