It's possible. But this life makes way for the lazy as well. Whatever happens, what will remain? I can change, that I know. I could turn into anything, possibly something that at this point I would detest. That would be painful. Somehow I've got to be able to drop out far enough to get sucked into something. Wait and it will come? How hard should I be working now, honing skill and studying technique. I'll always feel that it's not enough. But perhaps, though lacking, it can still be brilliant of its own design.
Two small drops of blood
came to his face as he stood
ankles abruptly flaring from the mud,
the quick blue flashes held the mood.
One arc stretched straight on the line
of the horizon.
Another flowered up from the pine
as it shattered.
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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