Well, that was something completely mutated from origin. What can follow? It was deep, moving, but not for the same reasons as in the past. It was tragic because it wasn't nearly what it used to be. And all of those people, they keep it going with supportive devotion. What is it? How long will it go?
But the company was good. 3 out of 4 ain't bad. Fun to be with, talk to, and look at. Confounding as usual.
Bringing a huge platter to the table,
the sweets piled so high he was hardly able
to steady the mountain for the mountain's sake,
leaving no trace or path in the wake.
The mountain waited patiently, though sour
for those hands slowly reached the hour
when his palette was doused with salt,
and his beautific hunger was called to halt.
And what could he do? He erupted in flame,
Zince then, nozingz the zame.
Fucc'k.
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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