Whoops, dead stop. My thoughts turned to reality, and all incentive vanishes. Have I ever had fun? Yes. Will it come again? Who knows. But what happens when it all rolls up in a ball and you dissect it, all of the spaces eliminated, and a cold hush pervades the populous? Well, one thing's established, one thing is sure, one path is too littered for passage, one bridge less secure.
Bounding over the edge,
a dark shape once real,
falls to his doom on a heightened ledge,
but no one asks him to feel
as though it was worth it,
when they turn from the lip,
And after he'd finally hit,
a small one did quip,
"Don't forget to right."
What does it mean, all that happens, it seems so stupid at times, as if there were no purpose to it other than embarrassment or pride. I don't care, she didn't ask me. Maybe she did. I missed that.
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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