Banshee picnic happiness rides on the railways to the north; pole emperor stated the finality of life succinctly repeats sin. Having appeared lightly beside secret placemats, the untrue plaster caster interrupted the fanfare with a loud gazoot, fit to the socket with a perfect idea that all at once began to hide the whipped cream. So, the marmalade came back from the Denver omelette, so any questions are directed to stage right, where they are manhandled approvingly.
Can you feel worse if you screw up? Can you run from the cement-brained gum of a sad mysticoniao? Blatant allegations trumped up like cards on a ship, turned about in the soup with a giant whipper, the dawn approaches the steamer.
If I dream of you,
if I give devotion too,
if I made you meatchunk stew,
would prophesied dance come true?
As was his way, he wandered about.
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