Somewhere there's a wall. That's an explanation that merits little explanation, but Jesus, give me some evidence. I mean, other than my own, limited, POV. Sometimes, all of those times, it's so damn easy. Other times, most of them, it's like the difference never existed, that hope is under the influence of arbitrary matters: the mass of CH4 in the air, or the number of straws up your nose. Yeah, I joke about it, but I can't help but dream of a day when ease is the rule, and playfulness is the mode.
As time rushes past,
and dreams get lost,
first impressions last,
though, now they cost,
more than
before.
There was a time when I
thought of those I knew not. By
the way they were strewn,
passed along with many a moon,
But if I forget just one,
Then nothing makes sense.
If I forget them all, they've won,
a hall of inscrutiny to pitch their weird tents.
So be the winds of actors, tell them they stink, or they will never stop.
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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