Mortified by the memories which now caused him to remember violet shadows of wrath and movements in the moonlight that play over bright daisies in the grass, by the gazebo. Fraught with passions unknown, but by his own self, somewhere, locked away for an eon, placed there by willpower, and drawn with pain when it emerged. Sucking the air into his lungs one last time, he had a moment to wonder why, before the sky was shadowed in violets, a daisy-chain of past incarnations, and a flash of anxiety left its mark on the floor upon which he wavered and fell, it being hardwood with aged wounds.
Once the time was upon me,
happy lived old man,
Grew children and had many, grownups,
and forever-after living, marry.
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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