Unlike the volume of a beast, the soul occupies no set relief. Take it from the maze, interest to leads by gaze. Evolving a certain sort, his writings begin to report, unprose, ahead of time, truth lies an ugliness enshrined.
Play a coastal scene,
Tear a fissioned dream.
Bring the back forth to light,
Why not think of souls alight?
A fellow in a creed unseen
Drinks deep with my every gleam
of eye, and so, upon night's end,
we've found some bitter lover-friend.
Here's a poem to my sight of un-dream
and follow passions to the obscene.
As towers loomed, cranks boomed, and drilling into the earth continued, his torrid gaze alit now on the first crest, now on the third. He's a man of many gazes, and what he writes in his novels is a scanty sort of script. What we discern from such frolics is a deep sense of universe and our unending continuance in such. Open wide the circumference sky. Ub!
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.
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