So long. So long since I've picked up pen and paper with a purpose to mind more than simple arithmetics or short, scurried sketches. And what do I have to say about things? The circle continues. Someone has to put a foot out, stop the idiocy. It can't be permitted. I can't let it happen.
On the major front, things are going and going. What is it? I've lost the ability to analyze. I can't understand what is happening. I haven't a clue. But it's best perhaps if I stop trying to find one. Remember this: It will never be better, and only stop being worse after it's all gone.
A parable for everything.
A few words in a book,
a little nod or a look,
something to hide the time,
amidst pages of rhyme.
I've arrived at a stop
below which doth drop
a bit of wit like wind,
the lot of which I can't rescind,
so don't forget the end,
when the last bend bends.
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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