Troubled dreams like no others. Dimensions clashing, poking up from scattered surfaces, they run amok and test my sanity. Questions pop like corn on fire. So what? Can I really lose? only my pRide. Maybe I should run again.
Next page on shows another tumbling form, its limbs stretched about the toiling sand. Shifting rays run against heavy trees weighed by blocks of green. The image is quite ugly to the eye of any who are aware of perspective, proportion, or the entertaining factors of reality. Surely even on an abstract scale the piece is worth less than the planet it was planted on.
Grave metal vessel aflight
in blackness of depth despite
pricks of running white light
which catch an eye turned right
as another approaches, sheathed in fright.
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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