Make way for the complex hero, one you think you might know. But trust me, few really do. Not even he himself can claim to possess a firm grasp of his own diluted psyche, which is pushed this way and that by his horrid emotions and waking dreams.
Two days had gone by since the incident, and so twice he had awakened realizing that it could be any time. But when the ceiling peeled back later in the day, he still screamed like it was never coming.
Trapped by time,
a familiar stint,
Stopped on a dime,
with a nine cent hint:
don't let the lack of action
make your actions lacking,
turn all your least of moments to abstraction
and send the doldrums packing.
Bull
Shit
I'm goin' away, I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I'm goin, and I'm goin'.
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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