Things are going, still don't know where.
He screamed, "There's a fire in the screen
in the hole in the bowl!"
Don't worry, it's only
my alone, not lonely
Dog wrapped in bologna.
That was tough.
Scratch my feet.
Work work work, right?
Please, please please, ¿sí?
Hope hope hope, yes.
Was that the midnight caller? A little tardy, one might quip.
One hour later, the phone rings two and two thirds times. He enters in his memois, "Damn if she doesn't know how to make one wonder."
After seven years, one begins to feel like a world has escaped them, one inhabited by brighter beings.
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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