Eccentric Flower:199901/plumbing and schizophrenia
From Eccentric Flower
«January 1999 «Eccentric Flower
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eight january (even later) plumbing and schizophrenia I hate talking about the plumbing. Especially mine. I bet you thought I was talking about genitalia, and I suppose the statement would have been apropos there too, but I meant Alewife Bayou. This is supposed to be a stream of words for people to read. You shouldn't need to hear about behind-the-scenes. That's my concern. Nonetheless, I get email about these things, and sometimes it's easier just to put it in a postcard rather than write the same answer ten times. So here we go: 1. Sam (Bowing Down To My Addiction) isn't in the webring anymore because she had to password-protect her pages, which isn't fair to the ring readers. 2. Since Scr@wls is shut down, I will probably be shopping for other ring sites. Send them if you like, but be aware that it takes me a long time to reply to requests of that sort; it doesn't mean I haven't read them. 3. Heliotrope only gives you the latest postcard when you ask her. Since of late I have been writing two or three a day, then skipping days, that system means missed postcards for some of you. So I've got a notify list. If you don't already know it exists, then you missed a postcard. See? (The top page has details too.) 4. Yes, I changed the logo. (Some of you never see the top page at all; I see it every day; ergo, I get sick of it faster than you do.) Yes, I am aware that it's a rather creepy logo. (One person said it looked like I'd drowned.) I like it that way. In case you don't realize: Alewife Bayou is supposed to have a murky design. Grim, swampy, decaying, neglected. The fact that you don't realize this is because I'm an inadequate artist, and I won't put up any trimmings that might make it "swampier" because I can't do them well enough to suit my exacting standards. It already bothers me enough that I can't get the little portraits right. This has nothing to do with inner despair or Gothness (perish forbid) - I just like dark vistas. I love overcast days. To heck with the sun; the sky is most beautiful in the false darkness just before the record-breaking thunderstorm. The rusted-out barn is prettier than the new one. As for my face: You have no idea how much of a change in personality I've had to undergo just to put my image on this site at all. Newish readers may not recall that for the longest time no one knew Columbine's appearance; she was an enigma. I dislike my face. That image on the top page is as beautiful as I can make it, and it's still not good enough. Nobody understands this. I sometimes think it was a mistake to come out of the closet about Columbine; it means that my conscience doesn't hurt from the deceit, true, but the whole idea was for Columbine's personality to displace mine when I dealt with my online friends. I wanted them to meet and know Columbine, not me. Instead, it's happened the other way 'round. Mary Anne, who's met me in person, no longer sees Columbine as an entity at all. She and my friend Eric both refer to me by my right name (you know, the one which appears nowhere on this site?) in front of strangers while displaying Columbine's email address, and I'm too tired to keep protesting. Your loss. Columbine was a better person to know. I cultivated this schizophrenia deliberately and for a good reason. Oh, heck, I'm getting depressed just writing this. See why I don't bring up the plumbing? I've thought about asking for volunteers for the portraits. If you know anyone who's crazy enough to draw ten to twenty little bitty pictures of Columbine, each showing a different facial expression, then refer them to me. Having some pretty pictures of Columbine to look at would make me feel better. It gets harder and harder to feel pretty, and I suppose my damned face at the top of my web site doesn't help much, but I have nothing to replace it with.
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