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Each day is a empty canvas calling out to the artist within. I fill mine with words that paint pictures of illusion and dreams. I write therefore I am in touch with who I am and who I wish to be. It is my artistic release. Let the music of ones own words rise to meet the music of another. Let them sow the seeds of a symphony of sounds that will play out over the ages of time. Give each day time his due… sit with time and let the moments inspire a creative impulse within… take that and with it enhance the delight in witch you move… in witch you awaken each day… in witch you live… let the words play out across time and fall upon the ears that they may inspire a response of a creative exchange of ideas… This is my some place… the place to witch the impulses fly… when you walk in here you walk in to my reflection… if you come in search of details… they are to the left… scattered within the mysteries of me… the tales reveal them to the discerning eye… this is a place of wanderings of the eye… the heart… the soul… this is a place of figments… of fantasies… of the unreal… this is a place where everything is possible… if for only a moment frozen in time… this is for me the release… the culmination of the act… There are places we go to find solitude, to find our center, our purpose in life. Along the way we gain the ability to share them. Each of us is an artist or designer of our destiny. When we write about our journey we share the experience with all the other artists who we touch. Each day is a page of history this is my history, my journey. There is spirit to what is in here... One must believe to write... One must believe to be an artist... One soul stretches out to another... One voice combines with others to form a symphony of sounds... One note... one word... one set of hands placed upon another... There will be those who step forth to read... and those that step forth to write... The artists hand touches all that touches theirs... We all possess the skill, the gift of life implants the talent within us... We need only find our brush... our pen... our tool in witch we carve out our way... A journal by definition contains what I thought of on any particular day... It is a running gag if you like... A daily stretching of the imagination... a stepping stone for fun, joy and the laughter that fills the voids between times... What is here is what I think about... good, bad, indifferent... You are free to wander in and about... comments are welcome... butt be prepared to feel the power of another's thoughts... another's hand... another's gift... Be prepared to share in the circle... be prepared to share your gift, your artistry and your laughter...

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