No booze, no booze! I'm tired of the stuff. It's caught me in a little trap, and I'm well aware of it. In fact, everyone's doing it, that's why it's so seemingly unimportant. Yet, for me, this cannot be so. I must grapple here, early in the summer, to assure a place on top by the end. Heave ho! The donkey show. Keyeshound. Key. Tight. Blarney. Nebuchudnezzar. Drawer. 1st Drawer. Tight Drawereere.
Everyone understands that the very tips of those tallest of edifi do hide tiny, tiny men with penchants for nothing. They'll hold everything there is once, only to finagle it later. In the end, they've had the least. Who am I to argue. I haven't had my key yet.
Blanket of soft silence, glowing
like a sea capped by the moon,
I trip along the avenue, still growing
while the path's edge comes near too soon.
Tumbling like a rejected rat,
'neath a grey tree all night I sat.
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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