Now you know I'm made of stone and only dream br of flying and shall never stop until I fall and die, br though at present it feels as if I'm falling, but I'm br stalling in accepting this Requiem of Death br br Always believing tomorrow will be another day; br I'm in need of stimulating conversation, oh, God br in Heaven, the stuff I find on earth is killing my br soul and smothering my life - how can we all br br be without any growth or changing of direction? br I know the magic must first be in me myself, in br my prism-thoughts and feelings; it cannot come br from outside, but the fountain has run dry br br Temporarily, I surmise - still; a little death is still br dead and losing something, even only for a while, br is just too much to bear in stony silence! I feel br like screeching in high-pitched soprano - br br 'I'm bored, I'm suffocating in the nothingness; br help or let me die and find the lovely regions br of the notorious afterlife - in the sky! ' br br What terrible judgment can you or anybody br else pronounce over me so I can become br contrite and reconciled with my fate of br living such a boring life – br br I KNOW the fault is mine; but telling me br off as being bad might awaken my dead br conscience and motivate my crocodilian br hand to start writing a translation br br More boring than desert sand and just as br suffocating – which still enables me to be br free in between - by living life br in cyberspace!br br Margaret Alicebr br