I Am About As Detailed As A

People Think That Whatever I Put Into Strips Has Happened To Me In My Life.

By The 6th Grade I Stopped Doing Ordinary Things In Front Of People. It Had Been Ordinary To Sing, Kids Are Singing All The Time When They Are Little, But Then Something Happens. It's Not That We Stop Singing. I Still Sang. I Just Made Sure I Was Alone When I Did It. And I Made Sure I Never Did It Accidentally. That Thing We Call 'bursting Into Song.' I Believe This Happens To Most Of Us. We Are Still Singing, But Secretly And All Alone.

Something Can Only Become An Illusion After Disillusionment. Before That, It Is Something Real. What Caused The Disillusionment? No One Told Me The Print On The Wall Was Just Ink And Paper And Had No Life Of Its Own. At Some Point The Cat Stopped Blinking, And I Stopped Thinking It Could.

The Happy Ending Is Hardly Important, Though We May Be Glad Its There. The Real Joy Is Knowing That If You Felt The Trouble In The Story, Your Kingdom Isnt Dead.

This Ability To Exist In Pieces Is What Some Adults Call Resilience. And I Suppose In Some Way It Is A Kind Of Resilience, A Horrible Resilience That Makes Adults Believe Children Forget Trauma.