Man, searching for philosophy now is tough. Not spur-of-the-moment, not someone else's, but one of the views I can only remember as an event, though the phenomenon is less its content, void of that which I thought was so interesting at the time.
So do I carry a pen and paper wherever I go? I'd dread the habit. I do. Writing everything down. It seems like a cheapening of the moment. And how many close-following continuing events or thoughts are avoided by reaching for those tools? But if writing is what I wish, then how can I avoid this necessity? Not of the habit, but the cheapening.
Masterfully drawn, the picture stood
at the back of the gallery flanked by wood
and papers for the fire.
The air was cold to the artist's desire,
So, slowly the need for fuel
causes a sorrowful demise
all a clever tool,
to invoke some priceless cries.
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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