I Sit In My Tree

Everybody's Got The Seam Of Goodness In Them, Kit," Said Grandpa. "just A Matter Of Whether It Can Be Found And Brought Out Into The Light.

Yes. But Sad's Alright. Sad's Just Apart Of Everything

And What Is Wrong With Playing With Words? Words Love To Be Played With, Just Like Children Or Kittens Do!

Then What Shall I Write? I Can't Just Write That This Happened Then This Happened Then This Happened To Boring Infinitum. I'll Let My Journal Grow Just Like The Mind Does, Just Like A Tree Or Beast Does, Just Like Life Does. Why Should A Book Tell A Tale In A Dull Straight Line? Words Should Wander And Meander. They Should Fly Like Owls And Flicker Like Bats And Slip Like Cats. They Should Murmur And Scream And Dance And Sing.

I Thought How You Can Never Tell Just By Looking At Them What They Were Thinking Or What Was Happening In Their Lives. Even When You Got Daft People Or Drunk People On Buses, People That Went On Stupid And Shouted Rubbish Or Tried To Tell You All About Themselves, You Could Never Really Tell About Them Either... I Knew If Somebody Looked At Me, They'd Know Nothing About Me, Either.