So again the task, the stupid burden. No one asks you to carry it but you. No one takes any claims seriously, so why pretend to remember? The only reason for writing like this is because it's good that the other didn't happen. Why is it that only evil words denote the better of times. Thank God it didn't mean anything. That's not what I think. That's not what She(they, her, you know) thinks, and it's not what They fuckin' think. It's what thinks of us. It's what.
Opened like a brief shower,
from out parted clouds bringing truth
some in their foolishness may cower
to what we walk openly to in youth
of our mornings.
Birds and lifting haze,
Do you remember that one, certain gaze?
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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