Can't be letting that happen. It's hard to get serious about it when I've got so much else to get serious about. As everything slowly slips away, I seem to keep treading water, flailing about for no reason at all, no motion, no island, no safe shore. I just don't know what to do anymore. I never did.
Everyone hopes for better than this,
all scrambling for their ease or bliss,
to some it seems to tumble down
from nowhere, without a sound,
'til it falls at their feet
and they easily pick it up
making the days somewhat sweet,
while here on my bitter fruit I sup.
How much is a brain these days? Less than you know.
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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