Hi. Flicking wick to stick the blood clotless, trying, vying, like one of those cars, you know the one, struggling, choking, someone get out and push, for god's sake! Turn again to the energy bin. Green gold, ticket to true, passport to puzzling; stop writing! How the hell do you expect me to do the thing?
Done.
Wow. Who?
Do I know..
You!
Smoke clears, clarity descends,
the true road depends,
on the links in the dream.
Could be, can be.
I believe.
Different, so samely so, sweet.
A whole new dream.
Kaos
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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