Every person, purpose, or pursuing dreamer walks with a slumped gait, swinging on hinges eaten by liquid tears, and tearing out these dilapidated di-poles is a task fit for a fiddler, though reddish for love, like the wind.
Monsters appearing in Jersey cows are encouraged through thoracic tubes, connected in confectury to dicted brains on ice. Places without identifying signifiers can, at one and the same moment, call attention to nothing. Having said it again, the blind parishioner examines the gamut, and prepares a small fish in his pocket.
Ever since the last time I
wrote: Elly's sick, the dog
was happy to get the key,
it's been gone so long,
and Eddie finally hooked
into a heavy job, so
he's gone. So Long. Silbert
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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