Masks for the making of the man.

There are masks and there are masks! Our childish masks are simple, amusing, memorable for the future. Funtimes from childhood on which we look back with fondness and warmth. Lucky Bag or Christmas Cracker, it is unimportant to the instence of time. The joy, the laughter, the love and the giving, these are the real wholesome reasons for masks.

The there are the masks of youth. The masks used to strut and attract. The imaginative masks of the hormone driven players out to impress, out to undress? Some are harmless, some masks of deception. So,e masks of delusion, others sad masks whose real job is to reveal, reveal the reality and totality of deminished hopes. The face or the liar, it is hard to decide. There are familiar features true, but what or more importantly who hides behind this perticular mask? It is the aid to discovery some young grow to depend on. Others discard as stifleing hinderences to reality.

Finaly the death mask. Not quite as described, it is the mirror image faced off in the mirror. The familiar stranger. The one who has perfected t/he art of stealth. The mask that creeps. It is an unfastened mask, aa mask with a permenant link to your past. A weather storm mask with the likeness of a seafarer. Otherwise the soft feathered mask of a ladies man? Who realy knew? The sheer face of the the cliffhanger, the Eiger man. And the uncountable blemishes of a faithless life are triggered by the blinding burn of a winter sun, and an alchoholic lifespan. Here after sixty is the unscaled truth. Everyone sees with their face, they walk to look, they live to hide. The mask is a useful gimmick to the lad, but no hiding place to the man with more than a passing glance at the likely look of the death mask.

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