Something has changed a bit, what it may be is as mysterious as the weather. It may be that I'm finally able to overcome my odd narcolepsy for a time by brief napping in the face of death's younger brother. Now I sleep and wake at times that have no bearing upon the eve or morn. It is another monster, self-determined and alone.
Black light came through the boughs,
to touch unlighted ground
to bring forth bright and glowing vows,
and muffle them, unsound.
Flames leap up this trunk,
then another crackles its skin,
often times the fire has thus drunk,
yet will never hunger hence again.
Once an easily scaled edifice, the mountain had grown loose with the foot of many a human and beast, tromping to the peaks with nothing more in mind than doing just that, or, in the case of the animals, unbounded constraint.
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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