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I don't want to be a statue. I want it to be an actor of continuous communique, with consequence for miscue. I want to perform for someone, as-anyone-at-anytime, living-thinking and you an actress. I want to be someone-you. And you can be someone-me and can-be someone be-we.

It was the kiss of the stonetta-feel. You can't beat a stone-statue, I was to learn. In Europe it was living amongst stony characters. Come to think of it, I never tried to fall in love with a statue. Never-occurred to me. Living amongst statues, where to discover in-America, statutes were more-only in cemeteries and few-there at that. The cometary feel, white stone. Greek, Roman-ruined white-stone. White-stone statues. Historical monuments to what ? The what is the most fun. Why make it real ? Historical-reality quite-boring really. "The face that launched a thousand ships". Now that was some countenance. They didn't tell it that-way. Things just happened. Oops - just happened. It was happenings. The names changed and changed again. History is name-change. I missed that millstone by a mile. I thought you had to be there, where every character was petrified in conventional convincement, to get a proper-assessment.

Being there - I was there two thousand years later. A great term that came out of the Westerns, and there were a lot of lingo-istics there, was Ghost-town. It was a Ghost-town. A town with no-one in-it. There is a history to-this town. Go to the library. The building of a town. The abandonment. The town of disappeared people. This is the way I liked my statuary temples, the Greek white-monument glory Ghost-gods. Here it-is on a late Saturday morning, still-dew on the stark grass, a still-coolness in the air before the hot summer afternoon, and the marble cool and just a little-damp.

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