Opening the breeze-tube, ripe summer blasting in, he then makes his odd way to the piano, sitting himself upon the back of a grand tortoise, while feathering the keys with long, broken hands encased in silky gloves which are adorned with rocks of the beach.
Silly simply splashing about the tide of temperate seas where longing abandon winies with every mass movement along the ocean floor. But activity begets aberration, and voracious occasions herald a blind assemblage within the caverns of muskellunge. Measure by measure of what is and what is a lot, the beginning recedes to swallowed bribes, while we run against the present, hoping a step or two is worth the difference, and we can't help but mention the ride. Making safe the suburbs.
If things don't work out, if you don't like my aborigini and I dislike your musk, let's never forget the love whe sheared.
Wistfully, Freud.
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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