What do you really know?

James Lipton’s Inside the Actor’s Studio “10 Questions” that he asks each of his guests, based upon the Proust Questionnaire.

1. What is your favorite word? Magnanimous
   
2. What is your least favorite word? Cannot
   
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually, or emotionally? Laughter, Courage
   
4. What turns you off? Vengeance
   
5. What is your favorite curse word? Horse Shit
   
6. What sound or noise do you love? Conversation, and laughter
   
7. What sound or noise do you hate? sirens
   
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? hot rod racer
   
9. What profession would you not like to do? Anything that involves sitting at a desk.
   
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? I wept with you.
    
    

06-04-26/ Balcony Grip

A sheepish grin raises on his face as he smells her. He laughs to himself.
" Did you miss me?" " No truthfully I had to force myself to think of you "with that wild grin he adores so much. " That's quite amusing since you are all I think about. All of my thoughts consists of you. What your doing? What your thinking? Are you thinking of me? Who are you talking to, Who you are charming that moment?Sometimes I even find myself watching for you. Imagining what you smell like, mmm cake batter.I find myself lost in these thoughts. I can only stop and smile. "
"How thoughtful, and I am flattered, But really we had a moment we shared our time. But it's all it was. It won't go further than that." " I just wanted to see you , I am sorry I should have called first. I have bother you enough." Turn around walks away and begins to leave. Comes back baring gifts." We have a very tempestuous relationship you scare me when you get this way.I never really know what you are thinking and it drives me mad at times" " Please don't try to change me to change who I am, to change what I have inside of me. We are very different if you cannot handle that than I am sorry." " Yeah, yeah you are always sorry." Shakes his head and walks away.

PostCards

"Rainy afternoon in New York City I strolled antique shops. Block after block searching for something I was certain I thought I wanted. I got lost in the faces of the many that past. I reached one destination I had been to several times before. The smell as I first entered was that of the old,dewy and musty. I cringed but continued on my way.I lurked around the "red room" something very Parisian feel to it. Stars glowed down from the ceiling. Old bar counters surrounded the walls. I picked up a stack of old postcards from the 1890's to the 1920's. As my fingers brushed the writing almost to feel a sense of desperation from the corespondents.They only signed initials. Words were very few but endearing, loving and clinging to one another for survival. I wondered to myself as I tide a red satin bow gently around my new purchase placing them carefully wrapped in tissue together in a box. Did they get to share those moments they spoke of, if so I am assured it was never time spent being trivial ever."