she is a silent,
inverted hurricane..
her eye is on the outside
shape shifting soul mate
she's got my everlove in a box
on a shelf.. treasured

It's quite an interesting aspect of this game of life that the greatest hunters are adept at appearing to be the hunted. Here we have testimonials from Haji Ji and Stark, both known in our community for being slightly aloof and just out of reach, writing paragraphs of symbolic groveling for some innocent little hamlet in Vermont.

It's also quite interesting that while most tribesters with 50 friends listed have few testimonials Joelle racks up 3 out of 8 with more coming I'm sure and how some folks that claim to be "not strong enough for this world" can pin 800 lb psychic gorillas to the mat with one hand while daintily peeling open the delicate foil of a bar of organic Belgian dark chocolate with the other.

Anyhow I'm not here to give testimonial to Joelle's skill with veils of illusion, rather to bear witness to some of her aspects in which she is uncompromisingly revealing and out front: her wit and her poetry.

Joelle has honed a mind with a degree in psychology, the tongue of a poet and those piercing ice blue eyes that see all into a razor sharp weapon of side splitingly hilarious destruction. Many a night we spent falling to the floor laughing our asses off while praying that the laser of Joelles wit would not turn on us.

We pray that she graces these pages with some samples of her humour. We pray that said samples are not about us.

Her Poetry: I have a drawer that I keep my most dangerous and private treasures in, letters from lost loves, nude shots of far away lovers, illegal substances, foreign currency from countries that you're not supposed to go to and the like. In it I keep an old birthday gift from Joelle. It's cover written in a truly evil shade of red lipstick warns (in airport hazardous materials fashion): "DANGER" "xxx" above which (in sex and violence Mata-Hari novel fashion) is a suggestive lip imprint cruelly slashed through with a "banned" icon.

The book is filled with truly beautiful and truly terrifying word postcards from the edge of the abyss. A read from either one alone or from cover to cover entails a roller coaster ride in which the reader is at turns trancendentaly in touch with God, erotic ally turned on or so horrified that you wish to cast the book from you if your fingers would unclench. While not sacrificing the works structure or aesthetic unity the pace at which your emotions shift recollects the movie thriller rather than the poetic anthology. Really amazing stuff.

I could now point out that there as far as I know, none of this is publicly published and that their are 5 portfolios of fairly revealing model shots of Joelle on the web but that would bring me back to that hunter/hunted thing which I've already covered.

I, too, have never visited the fair town of Vergennes, though I have spent much time in the surrounding environs. I have stood on lofty peaks to the east and gazed upon that idyllic land, reposing gracefully yet also vibrantly and saucily full of life. However, to know Vergennes is to accept its inaccessibility, to glory in the knowledge that one will (and must) be content to gaze upon its pastoral splendor and delight solely in its timeless, remote beauty. The wonder of Vergennes is in part its being off the well-beaten track of towns worn down by casual visitors from New York (and other foreign lands), who come to Vermont to shoot their wads of cash, only to return home with some maple candy and a "VT" Euro sticker for their SUV. They give their money but not their souls, and Vergennes is lucky to be far enough off Route 7 to remain untrammelled, unsullied by such seekers. This, though not the source, is part of my fascination with and respect for this little town. Oh, some would say that I too would visit Vergennes in a heartbeat were I not busy with my more ascetic pursuits, yet I know in my heart that the beauty of this simple yet marvelously complex little town is in the beholding, not the holding.

Though I have never visited Vergennes, often have I longed to explore the glories of that famous land. I would to languor in the warm golden sunshine which bathes the protective flora on the rolling mounds and soft ridges of the surrounding fae filled fields. Wander there in the gentle hills to the north, to the west and the east of town until the commingled smells of forest glenn and flowing water rise to my nostrils inviting me, drawing me in to deeper exploration. I would linger for a long moment on the outskirts, taking time to admire the immense natural beauty and allowing the secret pleasures of the byways, forever hidden to the careless adventurer, to unfold beneath my curious darting feet. Beginning to delve the intimate inner avenues of Vergennes proper, glistening with a moist covering of aromatic dew on an exuberant Sunday morning in early summer, I would enter town respectfully, not wanting to disturb native customs. I'd sip nectar at a local bistro, enjoy the delectable breads and pastries of the bakery and taste the fine fruits, drinking in the good life. I would love to spend the whole day, and then another again, encircled by the wonders of Vergennes, moving ever deeper into the pulsing heart of rural Vermont.