Monkey Sea Monkey Doom. Narcoleptic Superman. Something Else. Freeze Or Burn.
How to push thought to page, the question now standing between here and the bottom of said page. Those words above inspired a great deal of activity about my brain, yet none of these words that follow are truly about any of that. What they are about, though, is why.
Think of the problem here. Some believe thought requires language, and cannot exist apart from that weight. But if my thoughts at the aforementioned moment were, in fact, in existence, then the language's necessary cause is bull.
But it may be my own ability to relate the language of my thoughts to that of the word. Or maybe I don't know.
Every time someone comes
up with an idea or two
which combine the smallest of small of sums
they cannot abide by the rule.
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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