What an excellent day it was. Some wonderful scenes and feelings. Meetings, the rendezvous of short dance, long glance, and quick chance. And don't forget the Turk, don't forget to tell everyone that he isn't going to kill anyone. Don't forget the Wesser among men. Don't forget the music or the courage or the fortitude. Don't forget who you now may be. Don't give it away. See her tomorrow.
After the bastion of hope had fallen,
the cats began their high caterwaulin',
and little Johnny returned home.
When the sun again showed its face,
it gave form to a misty place,
amongst which someone lay alone.
Don't forget the words, the air,
or the pretty dance caller so fair,
and always give in to that hypnotic drone,
of time escaping.
That's the word of the wize, bring it here.
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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