Machu Picchu had its ring, but sometimes it is best to move beyond phrasing and constructed jingles to see what substance really lays beneath the lettered surface. Begging attention, the giant mausoleum was crisscrossed with vines emerging from what was once a full, powerful rainforest, and which at present was no more than a tangled scattering of vulnerable vegetation.
Sorry about again the fem, a crazed bat unlike questioning the happenstance or caution flow over rocks and sorry about again; life lorn placed into quarry-like caverns of pointed light and inimitable shadows.
Break mack tucked in a corner, sipping joe; the coroner with his back to the counter held a steady gaze at the Beans, the accountant, out in the middle of it all, read a comic collection and occasionally laughed aloud. And Sally, awake with the birds, grinding and brewing, everyone's brightened angel, she looks at me like we're both crazy, and I notice Mack is gone, and his diesel comes through the front window, dumping cabbages by the ton.
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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