Toot in common, the name of the second-to-last song, it was made of strung-together tidbits of dreams and happenings. There was a rhythm that would not let go of the choked melodies it accompanied. Narcoleptic Superman came next, tinged about the abscesses with insanity and truth. A story about the Past, it always enters the mind in the present, a traveller, a beast/friend.
Bashful to the end, when the cage was finally lowered close enough and burst into flames from the boiling heat, he did not scream, as to be thought a fool of little words and much volume.
Hand me that stick,
I'll show you a trick.
It's something I learned from my old swami,
the one Kissinger called a Commie.
He used to hang from a tree
whenever he addressed me,
and I opened my heart and hand,
he gave me a stick and a hatful of sand.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment