Once more around the mulberry bush. Nothing but nothing, for true. Bleu. So, do I have to listen to people complain about being back for the next week? Shit, no one knows the blues like the guy who don't know how to play nothin' else. "I know how to play the blues"=danger statement. It reflects upon its own ignorance of itself. Don't let the good times get away. Don't try to rig the future. Let go, let go.
I feel like I'm manhandling my life so much that I'm not really living one. Reflections become vice. What can I do but know, and work? The future, the FUTURE! Grab hold, let go, hang on, let go.
Really running low on this literary plane. There's little holding me up. I need an experience. Shit, man, I just missed one, big time. What now? I'm locked up for quite a while. I've got to make the most of the escape opportunities, and tell myself that it's for my mental fortitude, and not like I'm hoarding them in fear of a bleak tomorrow. There's no way I can believe that, just no way. And continue to carry on, that is.
What of that other question? Like I said, let go, let's see. Don't crowd it out, just let it be. Whatever it is will show itself, it will evolve according to its nature. Don't try to pin it down, rend it, play it around, just let go, all the way.
A questioned beauty awaits her trial,
As the jurors enter rank and file,
Followed close by the blind witness,
Questioning now her own fair fitness.
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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