The news from Eliza Jane, "Hello sorrow, goodbye trains." Sweet devotion, lacking name, last emotion of the game.
Crackling shards were beginning their journey out, pushing into the air in a spinning path. Minute and limitless in number they fanned from a central point, then began racing to form their own focus, some successfully tying in many, some two or one; others were slaves to the concave, or never stopped dividing, and, therefore, dissolving, from the eye's view. That eye was, upon the initial impact and action of the glass, two feet away. And as the seconds stood longer, the distance was tiny, indeed.
Behind him the fires had begun, much farther, over distant hills. Yet the smoke was less than believable. From anywhere seven hundred miles away, there was at least one odd cloud, stretching to obscurity in the bent rays of the sun.
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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