Felt a tugging at my ethos today from the bright one above, all about missing the boat last night. I felt she was right, so now I write. All was not naught, though, for last night the cave temple took flight. See how fast I am in the morning? 1-2-3 and I'm all over it. 4-5-6 and ya get right off! Humors of the brain and ear last eons, or less than a day. There's your ultimate philosophy of mind question: Why does something funny change for us over time? It could diminish in humor until it is just another piece of time. It could reserve itself in a respected niche, thereby changing its first form. Or it could be built, massified and continue to be a new beast. What's the explanation? Money.
An open book lay upon the table,
I wished to look..but was unable,
For at that moment a wind rushed in,
And started the chimes in a roaring din.
Startled by such things I lost my place,
turning at the mirror, I saw a face,
turning towards the entrance I began to start,
when my feet hit the sand, by arms flew apart.
Terrible, wasting sun did shine down,
and placed about my eyes a bright, golden crown.
Pitching, barely standing, down the dunes,
I heard something call out from the runes.
That was the end, the story now told,
in a book of black letters inked truth bold.
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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