Wait, this might not work. This damned twig doesn't seem to write very....um...pronounceably. What?
It's getting better, but another jam like that and I'll be in trouble. What is this? A journal? A diary? A manifesto? It is to be seen.
Welcome to the world. This entity provided by my big brother. He's in the other room schmoosing his g.f. Yow! Relationships, ah I hardly knew ye.
Strange yet delightful Xmas this year. Pulled my ass out of the bleu just in the Nick of time. This has been a hard Fall. I'll just continue assuming you to have known all about it. Just can't pull myself out of the spiral of whatever, dig?
As far as any of the questions being asked these days: No, I don't know why. No, I don't know you. Yes, you don't know me. No, I said I didn't know why.
He glanced out the window again to make sure it was still there. He had found and loaded his shotgun and had it clenched in his skinny hands. Yes, it was out there alright. The full moon defined it clearly, thank Juno.
It's mass was not as large as one would have imagined. It's coat sparkled in the light, the loose snow among the hairs prisming it beautifully. Occasionally he caught sight of those teeth...this is what scared him most. They were white, they were sharp, they were alive.
He hoped that he knew what he was doing when he dashed out the front door, pulled the stock smoothly to his shoulder, and blasted shot all over the beast.
Silence, the thing was immobile. Then it stood on its hind legs and turned to him. And it spoke, "I'm your dog, knucklehead." The creature collapsed in a heap, dead.
Moral - If you wait long enough (for a lycanthrope), it will come (not really, it won't be that thing but you'll ass u me it is and end up feeling pretty lousy).
A poem! OK
This wicker
This chair
A princess not there,
Andy, what are you doin' there?
Get your stuffed hiney out of that
Princess Chair ---- Title at the end? Amazing!
Here Comes the Man With the Jive (not a poem) & The Last Song appear over & done, roger & Myerstein.
Hope ta see ya there!
On Xmas of 1992 my brother gave me this journal made of recycled paper with a twig pencil. I eventually filled it up sporadically up to 1995. I dug it out, dusted it off, and started looking through it today, May 6th, 2013. I've decided to reproduce the posts online. It's raw and sure to be embarrassing, but I feel enough time has passed that I can distance myself, yet find a very familiar me within these lines and perhaps find the inspiration to take up the pen again..... Thanks, big Bro.
No comments:
Post a Comment